


Mirror Images

by SweetTale4u



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 15:59:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1434328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetTale4u/pseuds/SweetTale4u
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Severus finds himself lost and without purpose. The image in the mirror shows a former student but how can she help him? Meanwhile, the prudish Hermione Granger wants to advance her career, when the opportunity to help a war hero presents itself, can she overcome her hesitance to help him? There will be UST, Angst, Voy, Dark/Hidden Desires as well as graphic sexual content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TycheSong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TycheSong/gifts).



> This story is a result of a prompt by the extremely talented TycheSong and her "Mirror" prompt on FB. I hope you all enjoy. Please feel free to drop a note letting me know what you think. Happy Reading! Cheers!

_**"To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves."** _

**Federico García Lorca, Blood Wedding**

 

**Chapter One**

“You must do something Severus. You cannot keep moping around here like this.”

“Honestly Minerva, I didn’t think I would be around to do much of anything. It all seems a bit anticlimactic if you think about it.” Severus sat down with a thud, without much of the flair that often accompanied his teaching robes. Wrapping the long robes around him like a blanket he seems to pout like a petulant child at his situation.

“Did you think it would be like in the muggle novels you read in your spare time when you think no one is the wiser?” Minerva took the seat opposite him and poured them another drink.

“Well, now that you say that I almost think it would have been better had I died on the floor of that dirty shack. I would have been painted as a Byronesque hero, having died for love. But no, that honor was robbed from me by some unknown do gooder.”

Taking a long swig of her whisky Minerva rolled her eyes at the younger wizard. “You really are too much Severus Snape. One would think you would be happy to be alive. Finally free of all your burdens, living rather comfortably off the monthly stipend provided by the ministry and the returns for your autobiography. Why can’t you just be happy?”

“Because this was not how it was supposed to end Minerva. I was supposed to go out in a blaze of glory…well not a blaze but you know what I mean.”

“Oh yes, lying in a pool of your own shit and piss really spells glory. I just don’t get you Severus. You are never satisfied. You are determined to be a miserable sod. Why can’t you find some direction, you seem lost and on top of that you are becoming a nuisance. You have managed to strip every house of their points in a matter of weeks. This is unprecedented, even for you Severus.”

“Well what should you have me do? I don’t have a purpose anymore. I never planned for this. Someone robbed me of my glory. I wish I could find out whom so I could ring their necks!”

Minerva shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she watched Severus hold an imaginary neck between his long fingered hands and shake the air. His eyes lit up with glee as he strangled the imaginary person. If he only knew that she knew not only who had done it but had been sworn to secrecy.  Hearing a soft cough behind her she knew it was time to end this tete-a-tete.

“Severus isn’t it time for you to patrol?”

Ending his assault on the air between his fingers, Severus looked up from behind his curtain of black hair and nodded. Unwrapping himself from his robes and self-pity he finished the rest of his drink and marched from the headmistress’s office.

“Oh Albus, what are we going to do?”

“Minerva, I have never seen him like this,” Albus’ portrait answered from behind her.

“We need to find a way to help him. Not even as a boy was he ever this miserable. He is petulant, arrogant and most of all…he is sad,” Minerva said.

“I agree, I have never seen him this despondent. A man truly robbed of his destiny is a sad sight indeed.”

“Indeed it is Albus, indeed it is.”

~~~~

As much as it would have given Severus immeasurable pleasure he could not take any more house points. Patrolling the corridors lost its charm as he could not be tasked to hunt down the little buggers and give them detention. Pulling the well-worn flask from his inside pocket he worked his way towards the astronomy tower. He was well into his drink when he arrived and after ascertaining that there were no students around he plopped himself on the balustrade and leaned heavily on the wall for comfort. He was broken and angry. Anger began to well in him again and he tossed the flask against the wall with fury.

“My honor was robbed from me and I have no one to rail against! Didn’t I do everything I was tasked? Didn’t I spill blood on both sides in an effort to please you?”

Severus knew not who he spoke to, his need was to vent and he did so with enthusiasm. His wand drawn he cast spell after spell, filling the small space with dust and dirt from the broken stone. Still this did not comfort him and soon he fell to a heap on the stone ground, his eyes stinging with unshed tears.

There in the furthermost corner of the small space there shone a small light and it piqued the curiosity of the despondent man. Rising to his hands and knees he crawled over rock and stone reaching the source of the light. There in the corner, hiding from mostly everyone was the dreaded mirror of erised.

He had lost track of the mirror after Dumbledore had removed it from the school. It seems the golden child had made his way to the mirror more times than was considered healthy and it had been whisked away to save his sanity.

It was too bad that Dumbledore had never acted in his favor that way. Many a night was spent before the mirror, pining away for all the things life had denied him. The woman he loved, a free life, love and honor. All of these were dangled before him only to be taken away cruelly. There as he knelt before the mirror all he saw was his reflection. His robes dirty and tattered, the white stone dust marring his once pristine black clothing. His face dirty and tear streaked he was a horrid picture of what he once was, his long fingers bloodied and dirty from his attack on the room.

Soon the image before him began to swirl and take shape. The shape that it immediately began to take was very pleasing to the male eye. Severus cocked his head from right to left to try and decipher the image that was playing just outside of sight. Straining his vision he drew closer to the mirror, willing it to show him the face of the woman. Leaning against the frame he peered closer as the shape faced away from him, bent at the waist she rummaged through boxes and books in search of something.

“Ah fate you are a cruel mistress, once again denying me any satisfaction. Not even now at my lowest will you grant me a reprieve.”

Shaking his head and rising to his feet, Severus looked away just as the image of the young woman turned and stared in his direction. As he turned away the image was once again nothing more than the reflection of the empty room and a retreating figure.

~~

The next day began with much of the same boring routine that it always did. Regardless of how much Severus wanted things to change, he did nothing to change his situation. He had taken the job as potions master after the final battle and had made no changes to his life at all. He refused to accept any accolades for his part in the war and had very unceremoniously mooned reporters that had showed up at his home at Spinner’s End. He was by all intents and purposes the same bastard he always was, regardless of his reputation for loyalty and unrequited love. In all honesty he didn’t think what he had done was that grand. He had kept a promise to Dumbledore in exchange he was granted his freedom. His stupidity had cost his friend her life and the least he could do was protect her son when the time came. Did that mean he had to be nice to the boy? No, and he wasn’t. Severus Snape had been a right bastard to not only Potter Jr but also to his orange friend and their annoying swot of a know-it-all Granger. Now regardless of how many years had passed since the final battle, Severus still held grudges against the three. They had been a thorn in his side from day one and he was hard pressed to find any reason to let bygones be bygones.

All attempts by Potter to contact him after the battle were summarily ignored. There was no need to talk, no need to share in their common link. The dark lord had died and there ended any and all obligation Severus Snape had to Harry Potter. As far as he was concerned the boy that lived to annoy, could go live and annoy someone else. The same could be said about the other two.

However just like his life up to that moment, not everything was that easy. It seems that Minerva just could not do without her favorite cub and a few years after graduating from university, Miss “Question Me to Death” Granger had returned to take on the position as deputy headmistress and muggle liaison officer. Since her arrival she had gone out of her way to make life easier for all students, muggle and pureblood alike. Her first act was to abolish house favoritism. Severus Snape had to concede that the move had made life easier for many students but he would be damned to hades and back if he ever told her that.

She didn’t talk to him much more than just to say good morning and good evening. To be honest, he didn’t know what to expect when she arrived. He imagined she would be the same clingy and annoying student she had been while under his care but he found that she was anything but. She exuded confidence and determination. She walked with her head high and was fearless in her person.

Severus Snape hated it.

She had everything he _didn’t._

She was loved.

She was respected.

She was everything he _wasn’t._

She was personable. 

She was confident.

She was pleasant.

He would have been okay with all of this had she not returned to the school. Out of sight, out of mind was the adage. However, she had embraced her role at spokesperson for the new ministry. Her position at Hogwarts guaranteed that the children would never again suffer the indignities that they had suffered while Umbridge was at the school, not to mention what they had suffered while he was headmaster.

There had been a few times in the last two years since her arrival that she had attempted to speak to him regarding an upcoming school event and he had all but barked at her to leave him at peace. After the third failed attempt she decided that using Minerva as an intermediary would prove more favorable. 

As it was mentioned earlier, Severus Snape had made no attempt to change his life but as fate would have it, he would have no choice but to make a change.

He would need the help of the last person he ever imagined needing and it was yet unknown to him as to the reason why.

A few weeks after his drunken rage at the astronomy tower, he once again found himself at the foot of the mirror, flask in hand, ministry parchment in the other. He needed to marry. It had been a requirement of all freed former death eaters. He looked upon the mirror again and begged to see the solution to this ridiculous situation.

The mist began to swirl again and the form that had haunted his dreams the last few weeks began to form again. The tight fitting bodice, the pencil skirt and high heels all complimented by a copious amount of chestnut curls that flowed from the head of the yet unknown face, bountiful breasts and hips that begged to be caressed all tortured him to hardness.

“Do not toy with me mirror, I demand you show me her face. I demand to see the person that can help me out of this predicament!”

He adjusted the tight bulge in his trousers as he once again struggled to make out the face of the unknown woman. No sooner had the words left his mouth did the mist clear away and the face made itself known.

“No…it can’t be her. Anyone but her,” Severus Snape cursed the day he ever set eyes of this damned mirror. It had haunted his nights, one too many times and now, to see that this woman was the object of his desire was some sort of cosmic joke. It couldn’t be. He desired someone to help him, not someone that would pity him. The defiant Gryffindor stared out at him from beyond the depths of the mirror. Her arms crossed at her chest, her chin held aloft, exposing the creamy flesh of her neck and collar; she was the picture of wanton defiance. This could not be the same Gryffindor he knew. This had to be a trick, a hex gone awry in the mirror. 

Smashing his flask against the teasing image he stood and walked back down to his rooms.

The mirror repaired itself and the swirling image of Hermione Granger disappeared once again into its deepest recesses.

 **For the next few weeks** the image that Severus Snape had seen in the mirror had haunted his every waking moment. But now it had a face, a face he knew too well. It did so because the woman in that mirror was not the same woman that haunted the halls of Hogwarts. The Hermione Granger that existed in his world was mousy, annoying and a frigid prude. Her ill-fitting robes and homely appearance paid her no favors with the male population. While she was loved by many for her contributions to the war, that love did not extend into her bedroom. Severus often observed her eating alone beneath the tree outside on the grounds, if not he would see her sitting alone in the library pouring over ancient texts in search of Merlin knew what. Severus Snape wondered just how the woman could help him. Maybe she could get the law repealed? He doubted even she had that kind of influence over the minister, no matter what she had done for the war effort.

Severus Snape however did not have the luxury of wondering how else she could help, he wondered if she would be willing to enter into a contract with him. Become his wife on paper only. She had been used to taking on lost causes. He could appeal to her humanitarian nature.

Sod it all. He would not beg her. Severus Snape was too proud to beg. He would not ask her to help him. He would just wait and see what the ministry did. Surely a war hero would get some preferential treatment.

“Severus Snape, you are here before us today due to a flagrant disregard to an official decree. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Minerva shifted slightly on the hard wooden chair and watched the proceedings with trepidation. For months her potions master had ignored owl after owl from the ministry demanding that he comply with the marriage wellness act. The deadline had arrived and passed and still he had not found a suitable witch to take as a wife. Minerva was adamant that he comply. She could not afford to lose him for the school year and to be honest she knew he needed a good witch by his side.

But Severus Snape was a proud and disagreeable man. There was no convincing him that he needed anything. Now he would pay the price.

Sybil Trelawney had even tried to speak to him about the order. She had offered herself as a possible candidate only to have Severus chase her from his classroom. No one had dared approach him since.

Now he faced incarceration. Minerva looked over to Albus’ courtroom portrait and raised an eyebrow. The painted image of her former lover and friend was deep in conversation with one of the court officials.

“Well Snape, have you gone mute? Answer the query posed by the court or face further sanctions.”

Before he could answer the question, the doors to the courtroom opened and in walked a ministry messenger. He approached the bench and passed a sealed parchment to the head wizard in charge before leaving.

The head wizard, an old man named Smiley broke the seal of the parchment and perused the document before calling the court to a short recess.

Severus Snape was taken to the holding cell at the lowermost level of the ministry to await the rest of his trail. During this time he had one visitor.

Hermione ‘Sodding’ Granger.

“What do you want?” He didn’t bother to look up from where he sat in the shadows of his cell.

“It is simple. You and I will marry and it will keep you employed at the school and out of prison.”

“Is that so? And what makes you think I would have you?”

“It is of no consequence whether you would have me. It is what it is. Either you accept this proposal or you will go to prison. I don’t see a queue of witches waiting to take you on your sorry arse.”

“I think I will take my chances on the rock, thank you very much.”

“Have it your way Severus, but do try to remember that many of your old associates are at Azkaban. Not all of them were as lucky as you were in avoiding prison sentences.”

“Lucky? You think I was lucky, you insolent bitch!” Severus Snape stood and stormed to the bars of his cell. Had they not been there he imagined he would strangle the witch until the very last bit of breath was torn from her lungs.

If he thought he would scare her by approaching her like this he was mistaken. She didn’t even flinch. She adjusted her oversized robes and patted the severe bun at the back of her head. All she was missing to complete the mousy librarian look was a pair of black rimmed glasses. Severus mentally chuckled at the utterly ridiculous the image in front of him compared to what he had seen in the mirror. Obviously that mirror was in dire need of repairs. Come to think of it, Miss Granger was the one in dire need of repairs.

“I will have you know Severus Snape that I do not fear you. You are a disagreeable, annoying, snarky bastard and I have no grand illusions that you will change for me or for anyone. This will be a marriage on paper only and for both our benefit.”

Severus Snape decided he would humor her. He needed to know what if any benefit she would get from this arrangement, so he asked her.

“It’s simple Severus Snape. I plan to be minister one day. Marrying you can be seen as a way of uniting the old world and the new world. You are looked upon as a dying relic of a time gone by; an honorable soldier, while I am seen as the future of our world, a strong muggle looking to unite us all in acceptance and tolerance. Together we would make a formidable team.”

“ _A dying relic_? You truly know how to sweet talk a man. No wonder the wizards are beating your door down.”

“I will not dignify your snark with a response Severus; I care little for your opinion. I didn’t care for it as a child and I sure do not need it as an adult witch. You were never kind to me as a student but in making this offer to you I am being more than kind, I am showing pity.”

“I neither need nor want your pity witch!”

“That’s what even sadder Severus. Pity is all you will ever have from me. Take it or leave it. You have until the end of the recess to make your decision.”

With that said she turned and left. She would not take his bait. She would not fight or argue with Severus. He was a waste of her time. The only regret she had was that she had not allowed him to die in that shack. A promise she had made to Dumbledore had forced her back to that dirty dingy room. She had poured her magic into his wounds and saved him. She had altered his memory with Minerva’s help and made her vow to never reveal her part in saving his life.

She hated him.

He had made her school life a living and breathing misery.

She could still remember the way his cruel words cut through her. There was no excuse for this. A man bullied so much by others as a young man should have known better. She had not deserved it. None of them had. He was not teacher material. He was condescending, mean, obnoxious and she couldn’t stand the sight of him.

That didn’t explain why her stomach curled in on itself every time she was around him. The palms of her hands would sweat and she could feel the hair at the back of her neck stand on edge any time he was in the vicinity of her person. It had been this way since she had saved his life.

As much as she loathed him, she hated herself more for being so weak.

~~

“Answer the question Snape. Do you bind yourself to this witch willingly?”

Hermione waited, her hand clenched at her side as she waited for him to answer. They had been here immediately after his release from Azkaban. It had taken a week in the dank prison for him to accept Hermione’s proposal to marry. His lip was split and his eye was bloodied from the beatings he had received from not only the prisoners but the guards as well. He learned rather quickly upon his arrival just how many former students resented being made to clean dirty cauldrons.

His normally velvety voice was raw and scratchy, his tongue bruised and bitten from the attacks. He was lucky to be alive; it had taken the guards three days to notify the ministry of his need to speak to Granger.

When she had arrived at the prison she did not let the shock of his presence affect her. She merely laid the forms before him and left before the ink had dried on the parchments.

He mumbled his assent and the binding magic swirled around their wrists, binding them together. Once the bond was cast she turned from her new husband and walked out of the ministry and back to her rooms at the castle. She issued a written statement to the press regarding her nuptials and prevailed upon them to respect their privacy in this special time.

She could still feel her heart pounding as she closed the door behind her and collapsed to the floor.

_‘What have I done?’_

~~

Severus Snape had never been one to get his way. Why should marriage be any different? It wasn’t as if he had anything to live for. If marrying the mousy Gryffindor would keep him from having his asshole handed to him by ex-death eaters then so be it. They would not be required to consummate the marriage. They did not need to live together in the same rooms. They were free to do what they each wanted and what Severus Snape wanted right now was to get pissed drunk in the same place as he always did.

The floor of the astronomy tower felt as hard as it always did. The mirror sat before him, taunting him once again with the swirling image of the newly minted Mrs. Snape. She rummaged once again through a box of papers while reaching up for a book atop the high shelf just outside her reach. Each time her body teased and tempted him in ways he never imagined. The curves of her luscious breasts outlined through the almost transparent white shirt thrilled him, haunted his waking moments. This was not his wife. This was a succubus, a wicked apparition set to drive his libido and his mind on edge. He shifted on the uncomfortable floor as he adjusted his straining erection. The image turned to him and released the wild tangle of her curls free from the confines of her chignon and smiled at him. She walked seductively to the edge of the mirror, beckoning him with her body, her mouth, and her eyes.

He released the placket of his trousers and drunkenly struggled to release himself from his confines. The soft skin of his erection felt heated against his calloused palm. He spit on his hand and gently tugged at the hardened flesh. As he did so, the darkened image of a man entered the frame of the mirror and stood before his mirror wife. His mirrored wife dropped to her knees wantonly and released the hardened prick from the dark clothed stranger’s trousers. The tight pencil skirt rose high on her thighs bearing her stocking clad thighs and lace covered mound. Severus increased the tempo of his strokes to match the rhythm of her head engulfing the stranger’s cock. The dark stranger caressed her hair before pulling her roughly up and kissing her. Her plundered her mouth with his tongue as his hand ripped her blouse open, exposing her half covered breasts and hardened nipples. Pulling the breasts roughly from her bra he tugged on them as he pulled her skirt further up her thighs. The dark stranger wore dark leather gloves; its contrast against her creamy flesh was intoxicating. He saw the stranger tear the knickers from her body with such force that Granger gasped as she pulled him closer.  Her mound was bare and Severus could see the glistening drops of moisture on her glorious cunt as she spread herself on the desk behind her. The darkened stranger knelt before her and feasted with zest at the altar of her body. Severus stroked harder and faster as he felt his balls tighten. He watched with the curiosity of a voyeur as this dark stranger stood and drove his hard cock into the waiting cunt of the mirror image of his wife. The stranger ran his hands down her chest taking her nipples in his mouth, sucking them in time with his thrusts. He didn’t make love to Granger he fucked her with zest and vigor and she reveled in his rough ministrations.

Severus watched in confused misery as the dark stranger came on Granger’s tits and the result of his own orgasm dried on his stomach.

The name that fell from his lips as he came surprised him the most.

It also surprised Hermione as she watched him from the archway of the darkened room. His back arched and his hips thrust into his hand as he gripped his hardened cock and pumped it in long strokes. She was almost going to reprimand him, to shout at him for pleasuring himself like that but when she heard him say her name as he came, she froze. Her hand against the cold stone wall she turned away from the disheveled man that lay sprawled on the floor of the tower. Her breath came fast and her stomach lurched as she scrambled to get back to her rooms. No sooner had the heavy wooden door closed behind her that she retched onto the pristine floor of her room. Sliding down against the door she wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve as she struggled to deal with the images that flooded her mind and the feelings that wracked her body.

 


	2. II

> _"Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it"._
> 
> _J. K. Rowling_

**Chapter Two**

It had been weeks since he had married the witch and she had scarcely spoken two words to him. Meanwhile he visited the mirror weekly to watch the dark stranger lay waste to the wanton image of his wife. Each week a new scenario, every time he finished in an agonizing heap on the floor, no closer to finding happiness, no matter how elaborate the scenario.

It had become his own personal torture device and he feared it would only get worse. As the days passed he would look upon his real wife as she walked in the corridors or as she slowly chewed her food at the staff table. He idly wondered if she would allow him to do even half the things he had seen in the mirror. There were times that Severus suspected that she knew he was watching her. Her gait changed ever so slightly and he could almost see a slight blush in her cheeks.

Could it be that his wife actually fancied being admired?

He wondered what she would do if he pursued her, if he would lay claim to his right as her husband. She was a sort of odd creature. Her face always stuck in a book, ink stains on her fingers and used quills adorned the tightly wound bun of riotous curls. He found her oddly appealing in the way one would admire an unknown animal in the zoo. Regardless of her odd appeal he was resolved against feeling anything for the witch except disdain. The irony was not lost on him. The image that bought him to pleasure weekly was that of her face, the way her voice sounded as it mewled in pleasure beneath the dark stranger’s machinations, the way her mouth tightened around the hardened cock of her lover and the way she seemed to look at him instead of her dark lover when she found her blissful release.

What Severus Snape didn’t know was that for weeks Hermione Snape had taken to following him to his retreat at the tower. She had watched him pleasure himself watching images that only he could see, each time her name gracing his thin lips as spurts of ejaculate stained the dirty floor.

Each time she had touched herself wantonly imagining all the things he could do to her. Inexperience did not limit her imagination and she marveled at the depravity of her desires. She pleasured herself in the dark of her rooms imagining him kneeling between her thighs, his leather clad hands holding her legs open his death eater mask in place as it hovered near her exposed sex. His fingers would dip into the folds of her pussy, her juices soaking the leather of his gloves as he fucked her with his long talented fingers. She would grab her sheets and bite down onto her lip to keep his name from echoing into the empty room.

She knew he was watching her. She could feel his thoughts reach out to her. It was a result of saving his life. He didn’t know the link existed but she did. It was how she knew where to find him every Friday night. It was how she knew he was in trouble while in Azkaban. It was how she knew that even without the mirror he would bring himself to completion in the dark of his empty room in much the same manner as she did.

* * *

 

“It is time Minerva.”

“Are you sure Albus?”

“Yes, have the mirror removed from the school. Tell no one.”

“As you wish Albus, I really hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I always know what I’m doing my dear, now make haste, it is nearing the time when Severus heads there.”

* * *

 

At first Severus Snape could not believe what he was seeing.

The mirror was gone.

He searched high and low and it proved fruitless.

He resigned himself to finally inquire with Minerva what had become of the mirror.

Minerva did not prove helpful at all as she just shrugged and feigned ignorance. The sleeping portrait of Albus Dumbledore chose that exact moment to snore, which told Severus more than if he had actually spoken.

They had gotten rid of the mirror.

* * *

 

She watched as he tore the room up in search of the mirror.

His desperation was palpable and she almost felt sorry for him, _almost._

* * *

 

It was during dinner a couple of weeks later that she first felt it.

He was trying to enter her mind. She almost dropped her fork at his prodding. The feel of his mind pushing softly into hers was akin to a clumsy caress, nothing like the confident man that strode the halls of Hogwarts. His attempt was hesitant as she felt his uncertainty. She was disgusted with herself as she immediately became aroused at the thought of displaying the images of him ravaging her while dressed in his death eater robes or those of him tying her to the wall of his dungeon while he pleasured himself just inches from her aching cunt.

At first she just let him see her mundane, every day thoughts and she could almost feel him scoff with boredom at her projected images. Just as he was retreating from her mind she flashed him just one image. 

_Dark black leather gloves._

With his interest piqued he tried to probe for more but her walls came crashing down so hard he seemed to physically reel back in his seat. Without looking in his direction she pushed her plate away and headed to her room.

* * *

 

Winter gripped the Scottish countryside in an iron fist of cold and desperate isolation. It was much the same as it was every year and during this time his patrols became increasingly more difficult. His mind and his body battled against the cold winds of dead winter and his increasing loneliness came over him once again. He was closing in on fifty. His joints ached with the cold and his robes no matter how thick, never warmed him as they should. With almost no fat on his body, keeping warm became a task. Drinking had helped when he was younger but the hangover was just not worth it as an older man. His bed was cold and empty and had been all his life. With no one there to warm it he wondered once again if death would have been a better option to this living nightmare.

His only reprieve had been the mirror images of a wonton witch and her dark clad lover. And now even that had been taken from him. He had no joy in his life.

On his hands, he wore the only luxurious item in his life, black leather gloves. They had been a gift from Albus and Minerva during his second year of teaching. They had seen many a dark night and had kept his hands from suffering the ill effects of the bitter cold all these years. As he adjusted his long fingers he remembered the image from his wife’s mind. He had tried to reach for more but she had occluded him with skill unbeknownst to him.

Since then he imagined just why she had thought of that particular image.

As he continued his patrol he looked out onto the grounds and saw a dark image walking along the newly fallen snow. Dark robes played against the light from the full moon and it took him a moment to realize it was that of his wife.

She moved with grace he had not noticed before. Her hair was free of its severe chignon and blew softly in the cold air of the night. The soft tendrils of moonlight played against the long ringlets of chestnut hair that cascaded down her back. He stood off into a shadow alcove from which to observe her undisturbed. She truly was an odd creature. Here in the dark of the night she seemed almost like someone else. Gone were the severe lines of worry and concentration that normally marred her unblemished skin. The frigid air tinged her cheeks giving her an angelic appearance in the moonlight. Her eyes brightened by the cold, Severus could almost imagine seeing the moon and stars reflected in their irises. At that moment he realized what was different. It was the face that had stared at him from the mirror.

He wondered for a moment if somehow, maybe, perhaps his wife would…no she would never.

Walking quietly but with purpose he neared her. She was facing the frozen lake and had not seen him approach.

“You should not be walking the grounds alone at this hour Miss Granger,” the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. What did he care if she was alone?

“I am not alone now, am I?” she answered without even acknowledging his presence. She turned away from him as she pulled her robes closer and tightened the long black scarf around her neck.

He grunted, there was no answer to the question. She was no longer alone, he was there. He wanted to imagine that she knew he had been there all along. He didn’t know why he cared what she thought, he just did. He was torn between despising the witch and being very much at her mercy. They walked along the lake in silence, their breathing in the cold air and the snow crunching underfoot were the only sounds that could be heard in the dead of the night. 

They walked back to the entrance to the castle when Severus held his hand out to open the heavy wooden door. Hermione watched as his leather clad hand gripped the handle and pulled with ease. He stood behind her to reach for the door; he was close enough to smell the faint traces of jasmine in her hair. The front of his body, almost flush against her back when he heard the sharp intake of breath.

Could it be?

He took that moment to look into her mind.

He watched at the dark robed figure hovered over her. His leather clad hands caressed the soft globes of her breasts as she writhed in pleasure. Her hands bound to the bed posts as he teased her folds and bought her to climax time and again with his hand and his voice.

No sooner had he seen the image was he pushed out of her mind. It took him a moment to recover but in that moment she had moved quickly away from him and into the castle. He took off after her. The heels of his boots the only sound as he gave chase. Taking a short cut though a hidden corridor he caught her at the entrance to her rooms.

Pushing her against the wall he placed his knees between her legs and held her in place.

“Tell me witch.”

She was breathing heavily, her chest heaving as she struggled under the weight of his body against hers. His fingers threaded through hers as he held her hands in place above her head flush to the rough stone wall. His legs kept hers apart and she could feel the heat from his body at her core.

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” she feigned ignorance. She could feel his magic caress hers, she knew what he wanted but she would not concede defeat to him. She would not be the first to beg.

It had to be him.

“Oh you don’t know do you?” His words were growled into her ear. She could almost feel his lips caress the shell of her ear. His long hair caressed her face. She could smell the residue of a day spent at work, the smoke of the cauldrons, the tang of the ingredients mixed with the smell of his skin. She wanted to rebel, to gag, and to fight the feelings that pooled in the pit of her stomach.

Instead she stood as still as she could. No one had ever been this close to her. She fought to control her breathing and failed miserably as he dipped his head closer. With a whispered spell her hands were left bound to the wall leaving his hands free to roam the length of her arms as he reached for her neck. With his forehead against the wall near her ear his fingers gently caressed the exposed skin beneath her jaw. The touches were tenuous, unsure and confused her. She could feel him battling against something.

Gripping the end of the scarf he pulled it from her neck and shakily inhaled the creamy skin of her exposed neck. He could feel her shiver at his closeness, the heat from her core ignited his traitorous body and it responded before he could pull away. He couldn’t be weak.

_She weakened him._

She had felt him harden against her. The hard outline of his cock was flush against her and her own body warred with her mind as it sought its pleasure from him.

Pulling back he looked at her, his piercing eyes penetrated hers as he closed the distance between them. His hands at her hips he tentatively rubbed himself against her as he pulled her closer, as his lips reached out to hers she murmured a spell and her wand shot into her waiting hands. Blasting him off of her body he landed sprawled against the far wall of the deserted corridor, his head bloodied from the collision with the wall.

Adjusting her robes she stood over him. Hand at her hip and the other pointed her wand to his face.

“I told you Severus Snape that you would only get one thing from me, and that’s pity.”

Rubbing his head he tried to stand only to find her backing him up against the wall, her wand pointed at his rapidly deflating erection.

“Never presume to take what isn’t freely offered Severus Snape. You are my husband on paper only.”

“I know what I saw witch!” he shouted at her retreating form.

She turned back and raged at him. “Who in the fuck gives you the right to invade my personal thoughts Severus Snape? What’s the matter, did someone take your toy away?” Her sneer rivaled his own as she defiantly crossed her arms across her chest.

At that moment he saw the woman Hermione Granger could be and he feared for his very soul.

In two strides he was on her pulling her roughly against him by her arm. Her chest flushed to his as he looked down his nose at her.  His other hand dug roughly into the hair at the base of her neck as he pulled her head up to stare at him. Lowering his head he licked her exposed neck from the base to the spot right behind her ear.

He could feel her tremble and gasp, her hand roughly gripping the front of his robes.

Pushing her away sharply as he licked his lips and smirked before turning abruptly and walking back in the direction of his rooms.

Hermione raised her trembling hand to her neck; she could feel the moist skin hot beneath her touch. Lost to the moment, Hermione turned as if disconnected from her mind and the retreating form of her husband and locked herself in her room. She fell onto the soft duvet of her small bed and frigged herself raw at the memory of how her husband’s tongue had felt on her skin and how his hand roughly gripped her hair.

In the shower she scrubbed her body, she was dirty and no matter how much she tried it would not erase the shame she felt.

When she was done she collapsed onto the floor of the tub and cried.

_‘What was she going to do?’_


	3. III

_**"You can close your eyes to the things you do not want to see,** _

_**but you cannot close your heart to the things you do not want to feel."** _

_**~ Anonymous** _

 

**Chapter Three**

The rough stone of the shower wall cut into his left hand as he leaned to gain purchase as he viciously stroked the flesh of his hardened shaft. The hot water that sluiced over his hardened and war torn flesh offered no relief to his ache. His was one of her making. She was to blame. He tried to imagine the skin of other women, of faceless whores or passing fancies but there burned into the forefront of his mind was the creamy peach flesh of his prudish wife. The scalding water only served to incite his fervor as his erection just seemed to grower larger and harder the more he fought off her image. The sweet and salty taste of her skin still marred his tongue so he opened his mouth to the hot water to try and wash away her taste.

It was useless. It clung to his tongue as a hungry predator on its prey.

He remembered how his body had betrayed him. The flicker of recognition in her eyes when she had felt him harden against her. It showed weakness. His body had melded to her against her, her warm core beckoning him. Her warmth…so telling. The heat from her core had warmed his cock and it had hardened quicker than it had years, not since he had been a young man. It was overwhelming and he had lost control of almost all his senses. She had managed to overpower him and her spell had momentarily stunned him into reality and the sight of her standing over him was magnificent. She was glorious in her passionate rage. Severus had seen in her eyes the same spark of passion that the image in the mirror had possessed. He idly wondered what else he could do to provoke that response.

Turning the water to cold he shivered and shook away any thoughts of furthering the sham of a marriage they had entered into. He could not allow himself to be controlled by his heart again. Regardless of what the mirror had showed him, he would fight the desire forming deep in his soul. 

He forgot the task at hand and exited the shower unrelieved and convinced that he had to find a way to drive Granger from his thoughts.

In recent weeks he had begun to notice the differences between her and the mirror image. He found that while his wife possessed none of the over sexualized characteristics of her doppelganger she did have a certain quality about her. It was difficult to understand or even to put into words. She was like those pictures that at first seem blurred and out of focus, with no redeemable characteristics. It is only through thoughtful and careful observation that the true beauty of these pictures is revealed.  

He thought of brewing a memory potion or casting a charm. The only thing that kept him from moving forward was the very real possibility that he may lose all his memories. He paused momentarily and wondered if that might not be a respite in and of itself. To forget all he had suffered, all he had lost had him leaning against the corner of his bed. Still wet and draped in only a towel, he contemplated what it would mean to his life. There was nothing holding him there in that world.

A fresh start was what he needed.

Far away from this castle and all that it represented. It had been the setting for one too many of his nightmares.

Far away from his memories and all they signified.

He would travel; disappear into the nothingness of the world.

He would not let her pity him any longer.

Leaning his head against his pillow he drifted off to sleep. His mind filled with possibilities of a future outside the walls of Hogwarts.

* * *

 

The following day he did not see her at breakfast and he was glad for it. He had no wish to be the subject of her pity. He had a goal and the sooner he accomplished it the sooner he would be free of her presence and that of everyone in their magical world.

He thought of asking for the marriage to be dissolved but feared if he began the process she would somehow try to subvert his efforts. She was ambitious in her need to set herself up as a future candidate for minister of magic.

He did the next best thing, he planned in secret. The life of a spy acquired him many skills and he used each and every one of them to plan his escape.

* * *

 

The weeks and months passed at a snail’s pace. He had not approached her at all in the months since their meeting in the corridor outside her room. At staff meetings they sat far away from each other communicating with the headmistress instead of with each other about student issues and school business. Never once did they speak to each other.

It was driving her mad.

To have him so close and know that he feels much the same as she does was pure torture. She longed for the summer break. She would travel away from the school and forget the man and all the feelings of self-loathing and despair that he drudged up whenever she thought about how she had quivered under his touch. How she had shamelessly fingered her twat to the mere thought of his ravaging her body while leaving her soul tattered and broken.

He could not offer her any more than that. She had seen the memories and she knew he would not belong to any one ever again. She could never inspire that kind of love let alone that fierce loyalty and devotion. Hermione Granger was confident in many areas of her life. Academically she had always had the best marks and professionally she was making her mark in the world. Her marriage to him was a well-played political move that her one time friends had ridiculed her about.

But her plans had been derailed the moment she’d first seen him climax with her name on his lips. When she first saw him, stroking his hardness with abandon she had felt flush with shame and disgust but she had been unable to turn away. She had never seen a man fall apart like that and she wondered what he could be seeing in that mirror that elicited such a passionate response. Frozen in conflicted hesitance before she could react she had heard it. It had been whispered in that voice that had haunted her dreams and nightmares alike. 

She knew she couldn’t have his love. That did not stop her from lusting for him. She wanted his hands all over her naked body, his tongue to pierce her folds and mouth to suck at her hardened nub. These fantasies were that of whores not of sensible women like Hermione. She was ashamed that she had them.

She felt sick to her stomach at the neediness of her thoughts. His mere existence made her feel small and fragile. She wanted him to breathe her in, to wrap her up in his dark robes and shelter her from her own malicious desires. She ached at her core and no matter how much she tried to ignore it, it grew with a force unseen by her but felt in its entirety. How could someone that was so broken manage to tear her sanity to shreds?

 


	4. IV

_"A serving-man, proud in heart and mind; that curled_   
_my hair; wore gloves in my cap; served the lust of_   
_my mistress' heart, and did the act of darkness with_   
_her."_

_**"King Lear", Shakespeare** _

 

**Chapter Four**

“I’m leaving.”

The look on her face gave him pause. It was as if the wind had been temporarily knocked out of her. She tried to recover but he had seen something there.

“What do you mean, you’re leaving?”

“I am leaving Hogwarts.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, “For the summer?” She didn’t know why she cared. This marriage was causing her more heartache and confusion than anything else she had ever embarked upon. Some distance may well set her straight.

“No Miss Granger. I am leaving for good. I have tendered Minerva my letter of resignation and she has reluctantly accepted.”

“But…why?”

“I do not see why it is any of your concern why I leave. Our arrangement does not require that we cohabitate therefore I am free to do what I please, when I please.”

She moved to leave when he blocked her path and stood before her. He didn’t speak; he simply looked down at her. She was flushed and tried to look away but knew if she did he would sense her weakness. She struggled to hold his penetrating gaze but found her resolve quickly fading.

She looked down to the dusty floor of the platform and wondered why it felt like it should be her concern. Should she say anything else? Would it even matter?

“You’re correct. Good day Severus.”

Moving quickly around him she headed back to the castle. The train had just left from the platform taking the students away for the summer. He was leaving; there was nothing she could do, nothing that would matter. Why should it? She was nothing to him, just a way to get out of prison. She ran faster, away from his glare, from his dark robes and from all the confusing thoughts and feelings that he awakes in her each time he was near. She didn’t want him to stay. When the time came for her to make her move at the ministry, he would be of little consequence to her future plans. Or would he? Did it even matter anymore?

Her stomach lurched and rolled the further she got away from him. She could feel his eyes still on her but she had to be strong. She couldn’t look back.

Then she felt it. His hand wrapped around her arm and he pulled her off the path. He pushed her roughly against an old tree, its trunk wide and uneven. Her hands gripped the rough bark as he backed her up, his body pushing against her.

There in the hidden shade of the forest he she looked up to stare into his dark eyes, his face was dangerously close to hers and she could smell his morning’s coffee on his breath. His eyes were alive, alit with something sinister, foreboding. She trembled against him certain it was anything but fear.

“Tell me…” He growled in her ear, his tongue darting out to caress the soft shell of her ear. The breath caught in her throat and he chuckled. The sound was a rich ecstasy in her ear. He pressed his nose to the curve of her neck and breathed her in. She could feel his breath against her skin and it burned so very good. She tightened her hold on the tree behind her. If she let go of the bark she would fall, not onto the ground but into him. 

“T-tell you w-what?” She stumbled over the words. She sounded pathetic, a quivering mass of feeling. Feelings so strong they made her dizzy. He was too close again, she couldn’t think straight. She feared if she did speak it would be to beg him not to stop.

* * *

 

He couldn’t wait anymore. This wasn’t what he had wanted. He had wanted her to argue with him, to forbid him from leaving, anything to make it easier to go.

But she had just lowered her head and walked off.

Had he been wrong? Had he mistaken the lust in her eyes that night so many weeks ago?

The way her skin trembled under his touch told him otherwise. He just stood there and breathed her in. The sweet smell of her skin was intoxicating. He waited, he needed to hear it.

Then she did it.

That soft mewl he had heard in the mirror so many times. It was barely a whisper, but he pulled back letting his tongue trail the length of her exposed neck and he looked at her.

Her chin held in that defiant way, she was challenging him, daring him to continue. The moan was just her way of letting him know it was his turn. Her eyes glassy, her lips pouted and the rise and fall of her chest was his undoing.

His breathing became labored as he ripped open her robes.

He was too far gone now to stop. His whispered spell bound her hands to the tree. As he did he stepped back and stared at her. Her breasts were plump and her skin the same creamy peach color it had been in the images that had tortured him for weeks. The contrast of his dark leather gloves against her skin made his cock twitch. A light sheen of sweat covered her brow and the tendrils of hair that escaped her bun stuck to her neck and face.

“Is this what you want witch?”

He ran his hand down her neck and alongside both breasts. He massaged each globe and pulled at her hardened nipples. She writhed under his hands, her mouth open in supplication and her soft pink tongue darted out to wet her lips.

She would not answer. She remained quiet except for the mewling sounds that his touch elicited. As much as she tried to resist, she couldn’t. His hands were everywhere and it was her undoing. He reached down and ripped away her skirt and knickers and she whimpered. Her mound was bare but for a small thatch of curls. Her legs were clad in nude colored stockings that came up to mid-thigh. Her eyes widened as he pocketed the knickers.

He looked up into her face and she flushed with excitement. He could smell her desire and it made his mouth water. He knelt at her feet among the leaves and dirt and let his hands caress her ample hips. His mouth, tongue and hands left a trail from her soft abdomen to the apex of her thighs.  When he moved away to pull the gloves off, she finally spoke.

“Leave them on.”

The words were breathless and wanton. He nodded and opened her legs further. He caressed her thigh and kissed and bit the skin as he placed it on his shoulder. He stroked her folds tentatively with the fingers of his right hand and she shuddered in pleasure. Her juices darkening the leather of his hand, he pulled away and admired his fingers before raising them to her mouth. She tried to turn away but he pulled her chin to him and looked at her as he presented his fingers to her mouth. She hungrily sucked the gloved digit into her mouth, her eyes closing as she moaned in ecstasy. The sound made his already hard cock grow larger against the confine of his trousers. He opened the placket of his trousers with his free hand and released his cock into the cool air of the darkening forest.

Pulling the fingers from her greedy mouth he spoke, “Enough witch.”

Picking up her other thigh up onto his shoulder the sweet succulent flesh of her mound beckoned him much like a ship to port. He let his nose nuzzle the small smattering of curls and she moaned trying to turn away. He slapped her arse hard and held her tight to his shoulders. He could see the beads of excitement glistening on her folds even more after his warning. With his mouth a mere inches from her sex he licked languorously up the length of her pink flesh, dipping slightly between the folds. She tasted like the sweetest fruit.

“Oh sweet god…” she mumbled between deep breaths.

He made her wait and turned his long nose to caress the sides of her wantonly spread thighs. There at the uppermost part of her glorious folds was her swollen and hardened nub. He looked up to look at her; panting with need her skin glowing with perspiration.  

“Look at me wife.”

When she did, he buried his face in the glorious warmth of her sex that had tormented him for months. His mouth open, his tongue caressed and buried itself deep inside her. She tasted of all things forbidden, of nectar never known to him. He had never tasted anything like her. He hated that it made him weak. He found that forbidden pearl of pleasure and took it further into his mouth, relishing in the flavor and moans it elicited. It made her moan loudly and writhe in abandon as he took her deeper into his mouth, his teeth searing the flesh slightly. He could feel her moving trying to find a forbidden release against his face. She wanted him deeper. He teased and tormented her as his hands caressed her arse and his tongue trailed down to taste all that was forbidden to others but not to him. He pulled her closer onto his shoulders and mouth, not satisfied with just making her moan, he wanted to tear the air from her lungs.

Still the gloves remained on, as his fingers caressed the crease of her arse and reached up to tweak the dusty peaks of her breasts. Never once did his mouth tire. She shook with each release, trembling, calling out to the gods, to Merlin, to anyone that would listen. Orgasm after orgasm he drank at her altar. She finally passed out and he gently lowered her to the floor as he released her bounds.  Closing her robes he stood and looked down upon his wife. She looked utterly debauched. Grabbing a nearby rock he tapped it and whispered the charm to make it a portkey to her rooms within the castle. He touched the rock to her hand and they were instantly transported back to her rooms.

He laid her on the bed and turned to leave but not before depositing something on her night table.

_His black gloves._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. V

_"O, I have suffered_   
_With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel,_   
_Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her,_   
_Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock"_

 

** Chapter Five **

“Bless me father for I have sinned. It has been two months since my last confession.”

“May the Lord be with you and help you confess your sins with true sorrow. Unburden yourself child.”

“I have lied. I have deceived. I have been proud and shown contempt towards others.”

A silence could be heard throughout the mostly deserted church. Only Hermione’s deep breathing could be heard through the small grate separating her from the priest in the small confessional.

“Is that all child?”

“No father…” She didn’t know if she could go on.

“Pray for strength. The Lord knows your sins and he still loves you.”

“My faith has been tested and I have faltered. I have had impure thoughts.”

“That is not uncommon child, sometimes a person has desires they cannot easily control. You must pray for strength during these times. Have you acted out on these thoughts?”

“At first no, but then I have. I have pleasured myself repeatedly. I have also allowed the subject at the center of my thoughts to pleasure me.” Hermione’s face was aflame in shame. She couldn’t believe she could actually confess this to Father Gregory.

Father Gregory had been fresh out of the seminary when she had attended the Most Holy Rosary Academy School prior to receiving her letter to Hogwarts. He had quickly become the subject of many school girl crushes. Hermione was embarrassed to admit, that she had also found herself doodling his name on her school books one or two times. It was hard not to notice the young man. A young in his late twenties when he came to the school he was the youngest member on the staff. His dark hair and olive complexion were only heightened by his beautiful green eyes. Even now, so many years later, he was still handsome. A little salt had made it into his dark tresses and the air of confidence was enough to make many female and male parishioners take a second look.

She had gravitated to Father Gregory in particular, not because of his looks, but because he knew of her world. His mother had been a witch. She had been killed in an accident and he was left to be raised with his father. His father had turned away from the magical world when his wife had been killed and did his best to keep Gregory from anything having to do with that part of his life. Father’s Gregory’s dad did not however consider that one day his young son would start to manifest his magic.

Hermione had inadvertently set the contents of her desk on fire when some girls had picked on her, calling her ugly and fat. It wasn’t a new phenomenon. She was picked on mercilessly throughout her school years and it was always one thing or another. After a while Hermione had stopped caring and accepted that maybe she was ugly, maybe that was the reason she didn’t have any friends. Things didn’t improve when she went to Hogwarts but soon enough with Harry and Ron at her side, she didn’t feel so alone. She hadn’t made many friends outside of those two and to be honest, they were more interested in Quidditch, chess and girls. Sure they stuck together and had fought side by side but mostly Hermione only had her books to keep her company.  When Father Gregory had seen the rage that had emanated from Hermione at such a young age and the fire consuming the contents of her desk, he knew she was a witch. He had kept his magic hidden from everyone, even to those in the church. Yelling at the girls that had taunted Hermione to leave the class, he waved his hand and put the fire out. Hermione’s eyes opened in fear as she watched the fire die and Father Gregory’s apprehension. Thinking back Hermione is sure that he must have been deathly afraid of her outing him as a wizard. At the time, Hermione was simply relieved to know that she wasn’t alone and there were others like her. From that moment on, they shared a secret, a common bond. He was her only real friend. She could confide in him and he would listen without judgment.  When her letter to Hogwarts came it broke her heart. She didn’t want to leave her school; she didn’t want to leave Father Gregory. He had taught her how to control her magic, how to channel it and manipulate it, even how to keep it hidden if need be. They kept in touch with letters as often as they could. With Hermione off fighting battles with Harry and Ron and with him now in charge of the parish, there was little time to keep in touch.

Opening the door to the confessional, Hermione stepped out and turned to see Father Gregory do the same. In a moment he had her in a fierce hug. He had always made her feel safe.

“Talk to me Hermione, what has happened? You look so sad.”

“Father, I don’t know where to begin.”

“Come; let’s sit out in the garden. It’s much too beautiful a day to remain indoors. As beautiful as the chapel is, a little fresh air may do us some good.”

She followed wordlessly as he led her outside to the enclosed garden and courtyard that connected the school and the church. A statue of the Virgin Mary stood at the center of the garden, surrounded by beautiful flowers. Father Gregory led her over to one of four white benches that surrounded the statue.

Taking her small hand in his he turned to face her. He had aged well. She could see the small laugh lines that had started to make their way around his beautiful eyes and felt a pang of sadness that she could not have met him in another life. Shaking the thought from her head she began to tell him about her tenuous relationship with the dour man she called husband. Father Gregory knew of the war and the role that Severus had played. In fact, it had been Father Gregory that convinced Hermione that she should try to help the man. The sermons on forgiveness and compassion are what led Hermione to return to the shack that night of the final battle. She could not leave Severus there to die that way. He had cared for them, saved their lives countless times, there had to be a method to his madness, innocent until proven guilty. She had not expected to fall for the taciturn man. The moment her hands touched his wounds, the moment her magic flowed through him, she felt the connection deep in her soul. All the stern looks and sharply worded comments from the potions professor flooded her memories and it overwhelmed her. A sharp tug at her insides and a rush of need consumed her. She had never wanted to be so close to someone in her life. At that moment, there was no one in the world more deserving of her forgiveness and care than Severus Snape. It scared her to death. The concept of blind faith had always troubled her but at that moment she felt no doubt in this man. It was as if his soul spoke to her, confessed its sins and begged for her forgiveness and acceptance.

It was that fear of the unknown feelings that kept her distant from the wizard. When she was close to him it made her blood sing and she lost her grasp on the reality of the world. She wanted nothing more than to be consumed by this person, to give herself completely.  There was no heaven, no hell, just the passion he could incite in her.

Up until that moment she had just had a passing interest in the man. His dark demeanor and brooding manner were intoxicating. He was also wickedly intelligent. There was no topic he was not well versed in. For Hermione, intelligence and character were virtues she valued above everything else. However, she didn’t know the man, as a student in his class she had just been exposed to one side of Severus. She knew Professor Snape. She didn’t know the Severus that Minerva and Dumbledore had known, the one that had lived a tortured life at the feet of two masters. That was the man she had married and it was a wakeup call. She didn’t really know her husband; she had married in essence a stranger. At school, she had defended him to Harry and Ron and cried the night of Dumbledore’s death. She cried not only for the loss of their headmaster, but also for Severus’ soul. She had never given up hope that he had been on their side. Never had her belief in him wavered but there was a battle to win and that took precedence to her feelings.

“I know you spoke to me about helping him but I didn’t know it would be such a drastic move on your part. You married him to keep him from Azkaban?”

“Yes Father.”

“Tell me Hermione, do you love your husband?”

“I-I don’t know Father.”

“Yet you allowed him access to your body?”

Hermione hung her head a bit in shame. It wasn’t that Hermione was a prude per se. It’s just that her thoughts and desires had always been considered impure by the church because she was not married so she repressed them most of the time. Now, it wasn’t that easy.

“We are married Father, I am not sinning.”

“Yet, you felt the need to confess it as a sin, there must be a reason why you feel ashamed. Is it because you are not ‘in love’ with him but are in fact ‘in lust’ with him?”

Hermione thought about that. It was true that her strong desires for Severus were rooted in the sexual. The dark fantasies that she had were most likely a byproduct of years of repression compounded by his proximity and the unknown. It was probably why she fantasized about him ravishing her while wearing his dark death eater robes, wearing his mask and gloves. Saving his life created a sort of bond; it allowed her to see him in a new light. It would be a lie to deny she was attracted to the man. She liked everything about him, his body and his hair, even that ridiculously large nose. She was also mesmerized by his voice, his words, as well as his billowing black robes. But it was the unknown that called to her, the forbidden pleasures she had repressed for so long. There was an ache deep inside her that came to life that night she saved his life.

But now he was gone and she might never see him again.

Had she really lost the opportunity to actually find out if she was in love with him?  If he might feel something for her besides the obvious disdain and contempt he had showed her.

“You are troubled Hermione.”

“You don’t know the half of it Father Gregory. My reasons for marrying Severus were not completely altruistic. I did it as a ploy to further my career and I pretty much made it known to him that he shouldn’t expect anything more than pity from me.”

Father Gregory pulled back as if physically struck by her words. There was a sadness and disappointment in his countenance as he looked upon his favorite pupil. She was immediately struck with the realization that she had done something terribly wrong. Hanging her head further, tears swelled in her eyes and she wept.

Father Gregory put his arm around her and held her close. He let her cry as much as she needed. She cried for everything that had led her to make such a selfish decision. She should have considered Severus’ feelings, allowed him time to choose. She cried remembering the dark bruises and broken lips he had at the wedding, the result of his brief stint in Azkaban. She had been no better than Dumbledore who took away Severus’ right to choose by using his very life as leverage. 

She told Father Gregory everything; she confessed watching Severus as he pleasured himself. How she had blasted him off of her when she felt he would discover her darker desires. Lastly, she cried because as much as she had tried to fight it, she wanted her husband very much. It wasn’t pity, it wasn’t for convenience. It was because she wanted Severus, just Severus. She wanted to feel those feelings of desire and love without shame or humiliation.

Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket Father Gregory pushed the tear soaked hair from her face and smiled.

“How do you feel?”

She didn’t know how he did it but Father Gregory always managed to make her feel better. Telling him everything had lifted a weight from her very soul. For a long time Hermione had lost her faith. Especially with the atrocities that occurred during the war, it was hard to hold on to hope. Father Gregory had been a bridge between both worlds and he had always looked after her.

“I feel better, but what do I do now?”

“I think it’s time that you wooed your husband,” Father Gregory said with a mischievous smile.

Hermione laughed at the suggestion. “You must be kidding, seduce the man?”

“Not necessarily Hermione, you must first be honest with him. Let him know that you are in this marriage for more than just the political benefits. Also, you should tell him that it was you that saved his life. If along the way you manage to seduce him, then so be it, but for now you must come clean.”

“I don’t know if I can Father,  Minerva told me he was livid. He says someone robbed him of his destiny and that he should have gone out in a blaze of glory or some nonsense like that.”

“It sounds like this man might have made peace with his actions at the time he was attacked. He might have been ready to die. Doesn’t that tell you something Hermione?”

Hermione thought for a moment. She had already told Father Gregory about Severus’ unrequited love for Harry’s mum but it had never occurred to her that he might not have any reason to live. The sharp intake of breath from the diminutive witch told Father Gregory that she had finally realized what was wrong with her husband.

“It can’t be Father.”

“Yes Hermione. It can be. He has nothing to live for. You must give him a reason to live a purpose. Show him that all is not lost and that there are a lot of good things in life worth living for.”

They conversed for a little while longer. He told her that her dark desires would in time subside but that she should not be ashamed of them. He suggested she look into role playing with Severus if and when they reached that level of intimacy in their marriage. With any other priest she may have been shocked but he had always been very blunt and open with Hermione and for that she was eternally grateful. They had lunch in the school café and she listened about his new students, the changes within the church and how he had gone on holiday to a wizard commune. He met other religious leaders that were also wizards and learned that he was also not alone anymore in his love for the church and his natural magic.

She bid him goodbye and headed back home. She had a lot of planning to do if she planned on courting her husband.

 

 


	6. VI

_“The course of true love never did run smooth”_

_**William Shakespeare** _

* * *

 

**Chapter Six**

Hermione left the church in search of where her husband was.

At first she couldn't find him. Owls sent to his home were returned. A check at the ministry showed that he had sold his home in Spinner’s End to a developer and left no forwarding address. The goblins at Gringotts were of no help at all. Since Hermione and Severus had never gone to the bank to have their accounts joined, the goblins simply ignored her request for any information.

It had been almost two months since she had last seen him. She tried to reach out to him through the bond she felt but there was only a faint register of his magic. Where ever he was he was far from her.

It saddened her that she may have lost the opportunity to make amends to Severus.

More than anything she wanted to tell him she was sorry.

Tossing herself onto her bed she stared up at the ceiling and thought over what she would do and everything she had done so far.

Hermione had even thought about contacting Draco. He was Severus’ godson and he might know where he was but as much as Hermione wanted to find Severus her pride kept her from making that floo call.

Inspiration hit her and she bolted from her room and headed towards the Headmistresses office. Minerva had remained in the castle this summer, citing her health wasn't up to the mountain climbing trip Aberforth wanted to take her on.

“Whisky sour,” Hermione almost yelled the password and waited with little patience for the slow turning statue to allow her access to the office. Sitting by the window Minerva had her feet in Aberforth’s lap as he massaged her heels. The sight was a tad intimate. Hermione looked away and blushed slightly at her intrusion.

“I’m so sorry Minerva; I didn't think you would be here now.”

“It’s okay Hermione. No need to stand at ceremony, you know this old coot doesn't mind, do you Abbie?”

The older man blushed at the sound of the nickname and tickled her foot. She squealed a bit and leapt from her seat to embrace Hermione.

“What can I help you with dear?” Turning to Aberforth she motioned for him to prepare some drinks.

“I’m retired woman and last time I looked in the mirror I wasn’t an elf.”

“Then summon one,” Minerva said smiling.

“I wanted to speak to Albus, is he awake?”

“You know that Albus often sneaks off when Aberforth comes over but I am sure he will make an appearance if he knows you’re here.”

“Albus, where are you?!”

A few moments later Hermione’s former headmaster shuffled into view and smiled at the young witch.

“My dear Hermione, how are you?”

“Sir, I wonder if you might know where Severus is.”

“It is a bit strange that a wife doesn't know where her husband is.” Even though he was a painting Hermione could swear she saw twinkles in the fool’s eyes.

“If I knew sir, I would not be here trying to find him. I have tried everything.” Hermione was frustrated and it showed. She had not gotten a lot of sleep in the last couple of months and as the endless days passed she felt increasingly more desolate and desperate to find the man.

“I am sure you have not tried everything, have you?” Albus looked over his painted half-moon spectacles and smiled knowingly. Hermione dropped her head in her hands and sighed loudly.

“To be honest Albus, I have neither the inclination nor the desire for any of your riddles. Just come out and tell me how I can find him please,” Hermione spoke more forcefully than she had expected.

“Really Albus enough of the games, can’t you see she is distraught?”

“Oh alright, you two take the fun out of everything.

“Hermione my dear, you and Severus had a hand fasting correct?”

“Yes we did sir.”

“Well, what are you not telling me that I already suspect about your bond to Severus?”

Minerva looked surprised by the question and waited with curiosity to hear the young woman’s answer.

“I didn’t think that would matter. How can that help me find him?”

“When you saved his life you felt a connection to him, did you not?”

“Yes”

Minerva gasped at her answer. She hadn’t been aware that anything like that had happened and her eyes widened in surprise at the revelation. No wonder Hermione was so distressed. Physical proximity helps these connections grow deeper. The fact that Severus had all but abandoned her was giving Hermione not only mental anguish but physical distress as well.

“Hermione, why didn’t you tell me? Albus how could you keep this from me? I would never have accepted Severus’ resignation had I known there was this type of bond.”

Minerva paced back and forth in front of the portrait and the two occupants of her office. She downed one tumbler of whisky and poured herself another. She needed to get to the bottom of what was happening.

“Hermione what is it you feel? Are you in any pain?” Hermione felt the concern flow off Minerva in waves. The older witch had been so good to her over the years.

“It’s okay Minerva. I feel a bit anxious. I have a deep sense of need but I am not in physical pain per se. I suspect the bond is to his magic. I can feel it reach out to me when he is close by. I don’t think he is aware of it at least if he was he never mentioned it.”

“If it is a connection to his magic, then simply call out to his magic Hermione,” Albus pronounced as if he were stating the state of the weather.

“And how do you propose I do that Albus?”

The old man lifted his hand and pointed at his wrist. Hermione looked down and saw the swirling bands of magic that surrounded her wrist. They would continue to swirl as long as they were married. They swirled softly in hues of dark green and blue. They were colors that represented her husband. She hadn’t taken notice which colors appeared on Severus’ wrist and wondered what colors represented her magic.

“Just touch your hand to the bands, close your eyes and call out to his magic.”

Hermione had tried everything except visit Malfoy Manor so she figured she had nothing to lose. She closed her eyes and whispered the spell. She could feel a slight tug and a warming in her blood as images began to flood her mind. She was traveling quickly through winding roads and streets before she immediately halted in front of an old store front. The windows were darkened and the paint outside had seen better days. The words across the top of the door were faded but could still be made out to read ‘ _Apothecary Shop_ ’. Another tug and she was inside the dark shop. A display counter at the front stopped customers from perusing the four aisles of ingredients. A multitude of containers lined the battered shelves. From the images before her she could make out both non-magic and magical ingredients. The store was in need of some tender care and she wondered where Severus was if this is where his magic was calling her. She only had to wait a moment and from a hidden staircase Severus swept down carrying more ingredients. He was not wearing his robes and had his hair pulled back. Still in black trousers and boots, the white color of shirt was a sharp contrast to the way she had normally seen him. He looked healthier but as Hermione caressed the bands on her arm she could see him grip his wrist and sigh with what looked like sadness.

_“Severus…”_ she whispered and saw his head shoot up and look around.

He strode to the front of the store, his wand out and ready and looked for the source of the voice. Hermione, scared as he approached, released her hand from her wrist and was immediately slammed back into her chair in Minerva’s office.

She hadn’t moved, it had all been in her mind, but it had felt so very real.

“Did you find him?” Minerva was anxious to know. This was a type of bond that was not often used anymore.

“I did. He was in a small apothecary. From what I could see he was the only one there.”

Hermione described the shop and Albus told her it was in a town about a couple of hours from where they were. Albus had known the proprietor for many years and had heard he wanted to sell the shop.

“It seems he may have found a buyer.”

“There’s another thing Albus, it was strange. I said his name and well it almost seemed like he heard me. His head shot up and he looked all over the shop for the source of the sound. It’s the reason I pulled back, I was scared.”

“That is very interesting indeed my dear. I will speak to a few of the former headmasters if we can figure out how that happened. I have never heard of long distance communication using this connection.”

“What should I do?”

“Well how do you feel now?” Albus asked.

“To be honest, I feel better.”

“Do you feel weak? What about your magic?” Minerva was concerned.

Hermione tried a complicated transfiguration spell that turned the whisky glass Aberforth had given her into a muggle hot tub complete with bubbling jets and all.

“It looks like she is fine Minnie.  What do you say we try this thing out?” Aberforth was already removing his boots.

Minerva glared at her lover and Hermione couldn't help but laugh at the older couple.

* * *

 

Later that evening, Hermione was in bed thinking of what had happened. She had seen him and he looked to be fine. She wondered if he had in fact heard her and was tempted to try it again, only to test the hypothesis. She hadn't any lingering effects from trying it earlier so she placed her hand on her bands and soon was standing once again in front of the small shop.

Another swirl and she was in a small bedroom, looking around she could see the street below from the window behind her and figured she was upstairs in the living quarters. A sound from her right caught her attention and she looked over to see Severus exiting the shower. Still wet and clad only in a towel, Hermione struggled to swallow the lump in her throat. Her stomach clenched as she took in the sight of her husband. She had never seen a man with so little clothing, well with no clothing. The water glistened off his lean body. His sinewy arms and legs looked as if sculpted from stone. There were no bulging muscles or rippling pectorals. There was however a nice chest with a light spattering of dark hair and wide shoulders. She had never noticed feet before but his were long and his toes were perfectly formed. He walked towards the bed, another towel in his right hand worked at drying his long hair. Since the end of the war she had noticed that he wore it longer. She liked it longer.

She had to catch her breath when she saw him turn away from her. The crisscross pattern of silvery colored scars covered most of his back. She longed to reach out, to touch his skin. She wanted to kiss each and every one of those scars until they were no more than a distant memory. She saw him look at something on the table by his bed and then quickly get under the covers. She moved closer and saw that on the desk was a small newspaper clipping of an event at the ministry last month; she could only tell this because it was her picture moving on the folded and tattered periodical. He had folded away all the extraneous information and left only her picture.

Did she really look like that? She looked miserable in the picture. She never read the Daily Prophet anymore so she would not have even noticed they covered the event.

Turning back towards Severus she watched him. One hand behind his head he looked up towards the ceiling. Every so often he would raise his other hand, the one with his wedding bands and looked at them.

Steadying herself she rubbed the bands a bit harder and waited for a reaction. Soon enough, he bought his other hand to rub softly the skin of his wrist. She could not be sure but she swore she could feel the heat from his hand on her wrist.

She was starting to breathe heavily. She had to try it, she needed to try and speak to him.

It was now or never.

_“Severus…”_

He bolted straight up from bed looking around. His wand was already in his hand as he cast spells around the room to find the source.

“Who’s there?”

She didn't know what to say. She didn't want to scare him. She also didn't want him to be angry about the connection. She figured he would be upset either way so she spoke again.

_“Severus, its Hermione._ ”

 

 


	7. VII

_“Love is blind, and lovers cannot see, The pretty follies that themselves commit”_

* * *

 

 

** Chapter Seven **

Severus looked around for the witch but could not see her in the dark room. The one candle that illuminated the small room still flickered by his bedside but did little to light the hidden dark corners of his abode.

“Show yourself Miss Granger.”

_‘Severus, I’m not really there.’_

Severus imagined that this is what going insane felt like. There was no way he was imagining this. He could clearly hear her voice in his mind. He did the only thing he knew how to do. He tried to occlude his thoughts, to push the voice from his mind. He was not going mad. Running a hand through his damp hair he closed his eyes and threw up walls he hadn’t used since his days in the service of the Dark Lord.

_‘That isn’t going to work Severus. Please just listen to me.’_

“Have you poisoned me? Is this a spell?” He cast spells to try and see if there were any indications of him being hexed or cursed but the only thing that throbbed were the wedding bands of soft yellow and maroon that swirled and caressed his inner wrist.

_‘It isn’t a spell or a curse Severus, please just give me a moment to explain.’_

Severus found he had no choice but to listen to the disembodied voice in his mind. He nodded and sat up further against the headboard of his bed. The white sheet pulled up to his waist he remained nude. No need to put on clothes, he was alone.

_‘Do you think you could maybe put a robe or a shirt on?’_

Looking around again in surprise he guffawed. “You mean to tell me you can see me?”

Severus could hear her pause before she hesitantly answered _‘Yes’_.

Severus didn’t believe her and really what better way to torture the object of his discomfort for all these months than to remove the sheets covering his nudity and stride across the room. He could hear her sharp intake of breath and whispered mutterings of ‘ _Oh god_ …’ and ‘ _goodness me’_.

That’ll teach her to spy on a spy. He donned a robe from the wardrobe on the right of his bed, tying the belt around a bit rougher than was necessary he walked back to his bed. Sitting down he waited for the voice to come again.

“Well speak woman. I don’t have all night, I did have plans.”

_‘Plans, I mean, weren’t you going to sleep?’_

“That doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to do anything,” he smirked and listened to the obvious discomfort in her voice when she realized what he would be doing.

_‘Oh my…’_

“Want to watch?”

He tried not to chuckle as she stumbled over her words. Truth be told, he thought the distance would make it easier for him, but it hadn’t. He had missed the small witch. He missed her haughty demeanor and the way he was able to always get a rise out of her. The images that had once delighted him from the mirror in the Astronomy Tower had been replaced with images of his wife in her teaching robes, her wild hair struggling to free itself from its confines, her long slender neck and creamy skin. He wanted the witch he had ravished with his mouth that day he had left, not the faux images in the mirror. He realized too late he wanted his wife. Since he knew it was hopeless for her to ever really want him or this sham of a marriage, he left her. Severus had left her free to pursue her career and maybe other lovers that she could look upon with more than just pity and contempt.

Now she had found another way to torture him. She was in his head. The moment his name had sounded in the small room he knew it had been her. The soft lilt of the voice could only be hers.

_‘I’m sorry.’_

The whispered plea tore Severus from his internal monologue.

“For what exactly are you sorry Hermione?”  


_‘For everything, Severus. For forcing this marriage on you, for not taking into consideration your feelings and most of all for the way I treated you. I have wronged you. You didn’t deserve it…you deserve better. So if you want to dissolve the marriage, I will not contest it.’_

He really didn’t know what to say. He had expected anything but this. Where was the arrogant witch that had bullied him into accepting her hand? What had happened that made her change her mind? Severus thought she might have found someone else. He realized he didn’t like the idea of that at all and he immediately became upset.

“Once again you are not taking my feelings into consideration. What if I don’t want my wife going off with another man?”

He immediately regretted having said it. She might suspect he had some feelings for her. He didn't care; she was stuck with him now. She wasn’t going to get out of it that easily, no not this time, he held all the power now.

_‘There isn't anyone else Severus. I just don’t want to force you to remain married to me. You should be free to choose someone you want. If it was up to me...I wouldn't dissolve it._ ’

“Well that’s tough for you then because I have no desire to release you of your obligation. If we dissolve the marriage, I will be sent to Azkaban and that isn't acceptable.”

_‘I will speak to the minister and assure him of compliance and request the stipulation be lifted. It should free you to go about your life.’_

Could it be possible? Could he be free of the troublesome woman and still not go to prison? He realized that he didn’t want to be free of her.

“Do what you want Hermione, you have always done so anyways, regardless of how much trouble it might get you in. You and your friends were never known to follow the rules. Let alone care about the feelings of others.”

He could hear her sniffle lightly, the witch must be crying. She couldn't control her emotions it seemed; typical Gryffindor, their hearts always on their sleeves.

“Stop blubbering Hermione, you will give me a headache.”

He didn’t mean to be a prick to her but this was all too much to take in. Firstly he didn’t understand how she was communicating with him or if it wasn’t all a hallucination. Secondly, he didn’t know why all of a sudden she seemed concerned about his feelings. No one had ever given a kneazle’s arse about his feelings. Why should she be any different? Because he suckled her quim and got her off?

_‘There’s something else Severus.’_

“Of course there is. Leave it to you to make a long story even longer. Get on with it.”

_‘I was the one that saved your life the night of the final battle. It was my magic that healed yours and inadvertently created a bond between my magic and yours.’_

“WHAT!!! It was you??!! This is fucking great, just great! If I thought you were insufferable before now I can confirm it. You meddlesome shrew! How could you? How could you take that from me?!! I had made my peace, I was ready to go.”

Severus had stood up in a rage as he begun to pace the small room. His bath robe billowing around him much as his teaching robes did as he angrily tugged at the belt of his robe and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

_‘I won’t apologize for saving your life. I will, however, apologize for denying you what you so desperately wanted. It was not my place to change your destiny but now that it’s done I can try to make it up to you.’_

Severus couldn't believe his ears. Of all the people, he had never imagined it was her that had healed him that night. He had been so at peace as the last vestiges of his life drained from his body. There had been a moment of absolution followed by a feeling of utter bliss. He had wanted to cling to that feeling and follow it wherever it led him. It had left a throbbing in his chest that had made these few years after the war that much harder to live through. He thought back to that feeling of loss and realized that it hadn't been as strong as it had been before.

_‘Severus?’_

“That’s enough Hermione. I need some time to think.”

_‘Please...’_

“Of course, I wouldn’t expect anything different from you.” The sarcasm dripped off his voice letting her know that he wasn’t in the mood.

_‘I’m so sorry if I hurt you. Goodnight Severus.’_

With that she was gone. He waited a few moments and strained to hear her but the connection that he had felt was gone. The warmth on his wrist that had alerted him to her presence was gone leaving only the softly swirling bands.

Sleep would not come easy to Severus that night. He thought back on everything that had happened and her whispered confessions.

She had saved his life.

She wasn’t sorry for saving him and he remembered she said she wouldn’t dissolve the marriage if it was up to her. Could it mean that she felt something for him? He was foolish to think she did. It was guilt, pure and simple. She felt guilt for having forced the marriage on him, for having robbed him of his destiny, and for having treated him like a total git.

Regardless of all that the sounds of her sobbing had stirred an ache in his chest. He rubbed at the spot and looked at his wrist. The bands were a constant reminder of his connection to her. After her confession however, he knew that there was more to it than just the wedding bands. There was his magic. It had bonded with hers. It would account for so much of what he felt when he was near her.

Wrapping his other hand around his wrist he squeezed and held it close to his chest. He immediately felt better, more at ease. He quickly succumbed to sleep. 


	8. Chapter 8

 

**Chapter 8**

Severus paced the small room above the apothecary. It had been a couple of weeks since he had heard from his wife.

_His wife!_

The more he thought about what she had done the more it bothered him. He didn’t know what could have been going through her mind when she decided to take his life in her hands but he would be hard pressed to simply forgive her the transgression.

However, he realized that things had been different since he had survived the final battle. At first he had no purpose, wandering hopelessly from class to class. Even dragging himself out of bed in the morning had been a daunting task. His students hated him, the staff tolerated him, and he was a miserable sod that made no excuse for it. He should have died, the sweet slumber of death snatched from his grasping fingers by an intolerable meddling child. Yet, since seeing her in that mirror, he had felt differently. Something inside him had changed. The gaping hole in his chest had begun to be filled with desire. At first it was for the flesh and sex the wanton image flaunted but after time it had become more. It was not the imagined sex goddess that drove him to stroke himself harder and faster as he stood in his shower that morning. It was the shy and innocent visage of his wife as he first tasted her that day outside the school. Remembering the sweet smell and taste of her sex on his tongue is what drove him to utter madness late into the night.

_He needed to have her._

The distance between them had done nothing to hamper his need to possess her. Severus had always been driven and single minded when it came to what he wanted. This would be no different. He needed to have her, until he did the idea of her existing was just too much to ignore. If they survived it and they wanted to go on their own way then so be it. But for now he was going to do everything he could to have his wife. He wanted to have her begging him to take her, kneeling in supplication. He had found a purpose and the desire to do so was writing beneath his very skin, from the very magic that flowed through his veins.

 _Their magic_.

It was no longer his alone.

She had seen to that.  

He had researched their connection in recent weeks. He had even contacted Dumbledore’s portrait for more information. The old twinkling fool pretended to be ignorant of what was going on but Severus knew when he was being lied to. It was actually Minerva that secretly pointed him in the right direction. She provided some insight as to the effects of the lifesaving magic that Hermione had used and how upon their binding it had taken on a deeper meaning. According to Minerva his magic was somehow calling out to Hermione’s. She had inadvertently bonded his magic to hers. It wasn’t necessarily dark magic but its origins were to bind an unwilling partner, to control their magic. It may explain why he felt like he did when he was around her. It may have also been what triggered the mirror regardless he would have to find out what exactly it meant for their future.

Were his feelings for her truly genuine or as a result of the bond? It’s true that he had never taken notice of the girl when she was his student except to ridicule and berate her but in recent years she has grown into a formidable witch. The thought alone of having desired her as a student was disgusting and ludicrous. He smirks remembering the thrashing he gave Lockhart when he caught him with one of the students. It was immoral and Severus would have nothing of it. He had been a death eater but even he had morals. Students were to be protected.

He had protected her.

Now she was no longer a student.

She was his wife.

She was also ambitious, intelligent, popular, and everything that had been denied to him in his wretched life.

Pulling a parchment from his desk he scribbled a note to his wife. It was time he got to know his wife. It was time that she also got to know the monster she had bond herself to. He had never been a romantic and at this age he doubted he could ever truly change. She would just have to accept him the way he was.

* * *

 

Hermione had been in a right state for the last few weeks. She barely ate and she had almost been sleepwalking through her classes and meetings. There was obviously something to her state of uncertainty. 

_Her husband._

She had wanted to reach out to him to test the waters, so to speak. She couldn’t bring herself to do it though.  She woke up screaming from nightmares, caused by the pain she had heard in Severus' voice at her deception. 

She was also equally plagued with dreams about that night. Watching her husband’s body glistening with water had driven her to lust filled dreams of debauchery and sin.

This time however she didn’t feel any shame.

She felt desire.

Lust

Want

Yearning

She was afraid to look in on him. Afraid if she would see him as she had when he had pleasured himself before that blasted mirror.

It was the mirror’s fault. She knew it. Had she never seen him like that she never would have had her head filled with shameless images of her husband’s cock disappearing and reappearing under his masterful stroke. She would never have heard him moan her name as he wrenched the last vestiges of his orgasm from his weeping cock.

That morning she had woken up covered in sweat. She had just managed to get to sleep a little after 4am and now it was barely 7 and she was standing wearily at the window to her rooms drinking down her second cup of coffee. She couldn’t even think of eating. Food seemed to spoil in her mouth, the smells nauseating her. This day was bound to be the same as yesterday and the day before. Every day a copy of the first, after a while each day gets blurrier.

Exhaustion was her constant companion, misery her only comfort. She needed more, her insides ached with need and she found no relief in the images that tortured her.

She wanted her husband.

_She needed him._

The pecking of an owl against the window pulled her from her maudlin thoughts.

 

_Miss Granger,_

_We need to speak._

_I trust you know where the apothecary is located._

_I will expect you at 7pm this coming Friday if you are so inclined._

_You know how to contact me should you need to before then._

_Severus Snape_

The owl had not waited. Had he meant their connection?

She pulled the sleeve of her shirt up and looked at the tattooed bands on her arm. Rubbing them slightly, chanting the spell she was instantly able to feel his presence. Closing her eyes she waited for him to acknowledge her presence.

“Well?”

_Good morning_

She kept her eyes closed; she did not want to invade his space, his privacy. She could feel his vitriol, it vibrated through their connection.

_Are you decent?_

“Why the sudden modesty, it didn’t stop you before.”

_Just trying to be respectful._

She felt him steady his breathing, she had not opened the connection to watch him, and she didn’t know if she could stand to see him.

“Is that time on Friday acceptable, Miss Granger?”

_It’s Snape, Professor. Madam Snape._

“What is in a name? My name, dear saint, is hateful even to myself*.”

She had no answer.

_Friday at 7 is acceptable_

With that she broke the connection. It was going to be a long week.

 

 

**_*Romeo & Juliet _ **


	9. Chapter 9

_“O, why should wrath be mute, and fury dumb?_   
_I am no baby, I, that with base prayers_   
_I should repent the evils I have done:_   
_Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did_   
_Would I perform, if I might have my will;_   
_If one good deed in all my life I did,_   
_I do repent it from my very soul.”_

* * *

 

**Chapter Nine**

Hermione stood staring at the dusty green door of the apothecary. She had been standing there for what seemed like hours. The closed sign was barely visible through the grimy windows of the store. She was early for their meeting but she could not bring herself to knock on the door. She had paced the street in front of the store, thinking of how to do it but she got only so far as lifting her arm before it once again fell down to her side, limp and unresponsive.

_Was she a coward?_

Maybe she should have been sorted into Ravenclaw. All her Gryffindor tendencies seemed forgotten as she struggled with herself, with the idea of seeing her husband again. The tall, dark and perplexing man had managed to torture her for too many days and nights, her thoughts were not her own, she was haunted. Her body betrayed her; she was lost to the need coursing through her veins.

_There must be something wrong with me._

Is it the bond? Is it something else? She didn't know this man. He had been her teacher, nothing more. He had not been her friend, not even an enemy. He had just been Snape. The memories he shared with Harry had been the only thing that had given her any insight as to the kind of man he had been and what he was capable of. However she had no idea what made him happy, what angered him, who he was.

She wanted nothing more than to know everything about him and that frightened her. She wanted to crawl inside of his soul and lose herself in his being.

She stared at the door again, willing it to open, begging it to remain closed.

Her cowardice got the best of her and she turned to leave. She had not taken two steps when the old dusty door swung open. She turned fearing his expression, his rancor at having wasted his time but the doorway remained empty.

Hermione had no choice but to walk those few steps into the store. Her legs were stuck in treacle, each step a struggle. Each step closer to him had her stomach spiraling and her sex pulsing.

_Would he be angry?_

She gasped as the door closed behind her with a loud thud. The store was just as dark on the inside as it had looked from the outside. Small lights on the wall guided her steps toward the upstairs. Each gristle filled ingredient jar mocked her as she slowly made her way towards him. The smells from the ingredients assaulted her senses and she fought to keep the bile from rising. At the top of the stairs she could see a faint light from underneath the door to her left. The wooden floors creaked loudly and heralded her presence. Each step seemed to wail and moan under her foot and she suddenly felt like a prisoner being led to the gallows. There was almost no light in the hall except for the sliver of light from underneath the door and with each step it seemed further away. She reached the door and could smell the fibers of the wood, the mold stuck therein alive beneath the well-worn surface. The door seemed alive, its surface whirled and spun and she held on to the frame to keep from falling.

It opened to her soft touch and closed immediately behind her.

Standing with his back to her was her husband.

_Her husband_

He was in shirt sleeves, each sleeve rolled up to the elbows. Gone were his harsh dragon hide boots as he stood barefoot in black trousers. Every inch of fabric hung off his body as if painted by a master. A glass tumbler hung from his long fingers as he looked out onto the street below. The first shadows of evening had begun to cover most of the night sky leaving little light in the tiny sitting room except for a small fire in the hearth. The heat of the room was stifling and Hermione found it difficult to breathe.

It wasn't just the fire in the hearth that had caused the sheen of sweat to cover her body.

The flames from the fire danced on the surface of his glass as the amber liquid disappeared into his mouth. He still hadn't spoken or turned to look at her but his presence filled the small space of the room and Hermione felt for the first time truly frightened.

She wasn't frightened of him.

She was frightened of the feelings that burned through her as she took in the sight of him. His lean physique, the sharp lines of his shoulders, the slim waist and long legs begged to be touched, to be comforted, worshipped.

She didn't know what to do with her hands; she stood awkwardly at the center of the room as if awaiting instruction. It was as if she was once again in school awaiting his lesson, his guidance on what to do.

"I had never wanted to be a teacher."

His voice pulled her from her rampant thoughts and bought her back to the now. She listened; she didn't want to interrupt him with her incessant questions. She had realized long ago she didn't know it all.

"I was an emotionally stunted young man that made more mistakes that can probably be tallied. It cost the lives of hundreds and turned me into the misanthrope that I am today. You cannot expect me to change."

Her legs seemed to falter and she sat on a small settee near the fire, her eyes never leaving his back. His arm lay against the glass as he continued his speech. The more he spoke, the more he drank. The glass in his hand seemed to refill itself. The only other sounds in the room were those of the pieces of ice that clinked in his glass and the flames that licked near her.

"I will not pretend to love you or ply you with false platitudes. I do not know what I feel. I have to admit that against my better judgment I have decided that I want to see what this connection that seems to exist between us means. Who is to say that what we are experiencing is real and not a byproduct of the bond between my magic and yours?"

Her throat was dry and her tongue swollen with thirst as she opened her mouth to speak. Her voice cracked as she spoke. "Is that what you feel?" She wanted to move closer to him but she was rooted to the spot.

He pulled slightly away from the window and sighed as he hung his head and looked down to the floor. Finally he turned to face her and his dark eyes seemed to devour her every detail. The silence was deafening as she waited for his answer. She could see the bands on his wrist twist and come to life as his breathing came out it short bursts. It seemed to be too much for him as he turned away and began to pace the small room in front of her.

"You do not know what you have done to me Hermione. "

Her breath caught lightly; her name on his lips came out in as sort of strangled plea. She had heard him use it so sparingly that it still surprised her.

She wanted to apologize to throw herself at his feet and beg him to forgive her transgression, pray on the altar of his manhood and have him deliver her from all her sins but she fought the darkness within her. He had become so much more than just a man in her eyes and she momentarily thought when this had happened. Could it just be the magic?

No.

It was so much more than just magic. It was eternity, it was oblivion. It was the end and the beginning, the alpha, the omega. She didn't need to know his life story. His life began with her the moment she breathed her magic into his very being, as he lay dying on the dirty sticky floor of the shrieking shack.

She thought back to the tortured image of Bellatrix LeStrange. How she had keened and begged for her master's approval, lost to the insanity of her need. Her lust driven madness led her to her to follow a monster into the depths of hell. She had often wondered how a person could allow themselves to be driven to that need. She didn't need to wonder anymore.

"Do you think I don't know what you feel?" her voice was ragged, her desperation evident on her face.

Her words stopped his pace and he looked at her as if confused why she would still be there. His eyes widened at her intrusion and he threw his now empty glass into the fire where it shattered to pieces.

"You did this! It is your fault!" He yelled as his steps ate up the distance between them. He moved like a feral animal. He was no longer man, he was passion and fire incarnate and she burned in his presence. His hands reached out and pulled her to her feet. He squeezed her to the point of pain but she didn't fight him. His breath became hers and they stood there struggling against what this was. He pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes closed and he pulled her closer. His voice was a ragged growl.

"God help me I want to hate you. I want to tear you from the very fabric of existence but I don't know how."

She stood there feeling the heat of his face on hers, the strength of years of repression and pain in his hands as they squeezed and massaged her upper arms. His mouth a hairsbreadth away from hers, she felt more than heard the words.

She wanted him to close the distance between them, she wanted to feel his tongue against hers, to taste the bitter liquor and drown in the storm of his hatred and fear.

Because she knew he was afraid.

He pushed her back and stepped away. She stumbled and fell back onto the floor her hand barely missing a piece of broken glass. She looked up and the image was both intoxicating and glorious. A man she had seen as the epitome of discipline and control was falling to pieces before her eyes. His hand frantic as is pulled at his long hair, his back to her, his shoulders drooping as he heaved and struggled to breathe.

"I wonder if I cut the limb from my body will it cease to cause me pain?" he whispered as he held his arm up to the light of the fire.

"You can't…please don't," She wanted to hold out her hands, to halt his movements; instead her voice was all she could muster.

"Why not, why shouldn't I?"

"It is deeper than that and you know it. You feel it. It eats away at you as it does me."

"You have no idea what I feel. My magic is no longer mine. It mocks me from beneath the surface of my skin. It wars with me as it screams for yours. I have no peace. I am slave to another master that commands me from within my very core. Your magic has once again trapped me and Merlin help me I am ashamed to admit that I cannot bring myself to hate you for it." He leaned heavily on the hearth of the fire, she feared if he didn't, he would collapse and shatter like the many pieced of his glass. 

His words surprised and shocked her. She knew what she had suffered. She had been selfish in her belief that she was the only one affected. The man before her was battered and beaten more now that he had ever been at the hands of the dark lord and she was ashamed that she had caused it.

"Do you think I remain unaffected?"

Her voice roused him from his thoughts and he turned slightly to look at her.

"These feelings have tortured me as well. From the moment I saw you in the tower, writhing beneath your hand as you climaxed and yelled my name I have not been able to sleep a full night. I have plunged into a depravity of mind, body and spirit. My body has not been my own since I saw you, since my magic could reach out and caress yours. Nightmares turned to dreams full of ecstasy and desire as I frigged myself beyond the point of oblivion. My flesh warred with my mind, with my beliefs, with everything I had been raised to believe was good and proper."

He listened with rapt attention and disbelief written across his features. She had stood now and prowled the room like a caged animal. She had discarded her outer robes and her hair fell from its chignon and crackled with electricity as she confessed her sins to the only one that could offer contrition. Each errant curl was alive with her fire, with her spirit. This time there was no confessional, no Father Gregory to assuage her fears. It was pure damnation and perdition that awaited her at the end of this journey and she dove in head first.

He stepped closer to her, looking down at her, his eyebrow mocking, the sneer on his lip insulting her.

"Do you mock me with your trivial problems witch? Surely you could have had any of the idiots in your acquaintance appease your baser desires. Have the red head bury his cock into you as his sweaty thrusts and rough hands grope at your breasts. Give him my gloves maybe that will help you alleviate your needs."

The sound of her hand against his flesh resonated through the quiet room like lightning in a summer storm. She hit him again. The sting on her hands matched the rapidly spreading color on his cheek. Before he could move, she darted forward and licked away the small drop of blood that had formed on the corner of his mouth. She felt the rough stubble beneath her tongue and the warmth of his breath on her face. His dark hair covered his eyes but she could hear the lump form in his throat as her tongue savored his skin, his essence.

"What are you playing at witch?"

She didn't know what to say. She had only ever struck one other person in her life. His words had wounded her, they had eviscerated her control, ripped it to shreds.

She tasted the sweet coppery taste of his blood on her tongue and savored the moment, the small moment of release.

It was the taste of pure rapture.


	10. X

 

**Chapter Ten**

Her tongue on his face had almost been too much. Never would he fathom such ferocity from such a small creature. He had pushed her and insulted her. He should be ashamed and embarrassed.

_But he wasn't._

The look in her eyes, the swirling storm of lust and shame that overcame her when she tasted him had his nails cutting into the palm of his hands.

His cock was rock hard as it tried to break through the placket of his trousers.

He wanted this witch. He wanted to bruise and mar her silken skin with his fingers. He wanted to sooth those bruises with his tongue with his soul. He wanted to shatter her to pieces then rebuild her in the same exact image because she was perfect.

It wasn't the bond.

It wasn't the magic.

It was more.

She was everything he wasn't. She was not all light and goodness. There was darkness in her that called to the darkness within him. It was deeper that the marrow in his bones. It was a siren call that kept him awake in the night bruising his cock with ragged strokes as he tried to reach the shore. Tears filled his eyes as his climax eluded him night after night, nothing else will do. It had to be her. He needed to bury himself to the hilt in her and tattoo her womb with his seed.

He pulled his wand from its holster and pointed it at her "Legilimens!"

_She put up no defenses, she was an open book for him to read, and its pages beckoned his inspection. New images assaulted him. Dreams mixed with nightmares as she fisted her bed sheets. Her legs splayed open, her sex open for his eyes…only his, there was no other. Not the red headed one or the wretched chosen one. It was his robes, the scent of his skin, the touch of his hands that excited her; the sound of his voice as he condemned her and berated her that drove her to the brink. She didn't want to change him; she didn't want to save him. He was both her salvation and her damnation. She would happily burn for just a moment, a second of pure ecstasy. There was no shame, she allowed him to watch as she teased and fucked her quim with her clumsy hands. The images made him want to lean in and flick the hardened nub with his tongue, to once again taste what was his alone. It called out to him but it was just a memory, a passing moment. She could feel his arousal in her mind. He heard her confessions to the priest, her darkest secret of all. He saw her battle with her beliefs, with the feelings that only grew more profound and powerful with every dream, every thrust of her fingers into her body, every scream of his name was like a prayer. Except she was praying to him not for him; she was overcome with desire and overwhelmed with confusion._

* * *

He released the connection and staggered back towards the hearth.

_She was untouched._

Pure as new fallen snow, it excited him and disgusted him all in the same breath.

"How?"

She didn't answer him. Her mind was still on fire from his invasion. Until that moment it had been the most intimate they had ever been. The moment in the woods by the school was nothing compared to the intimacy of feeling his mind inside hers, watching her memories like a lecherous voyeur, her innermost secrets bared for him alone. She panted and felt the magic course through her as she fought to find her voice.

"You know why."

"Your silly notion of God, was it? Did you think he would be watching you, condemning you for your actions should you bed a man before marriage? How ridiculous!"

"It was what I was raised to believe; it was what I believed in."

He turned to face her; he didn't want to look at her. Her skin was glowing from the heat of the room. The dusting of freckles on her nose made her look like the young innocent bought to sacrifice at the altar of a monster. Without her outer robe he could see the swell of her breasts through the white blouse that clung to her moist skin. He struggled to maintain control.

He closed the distance between them and looked down at her. He didn't touch her. Her nipples strained against the blouse to reach him, he kept far enough away where they could only graze the front of his shirt. Anything closer and he would be unable to control his treacherous body.

"And what do you believe in now Miss Granger?"

He knew she could feel his breath on her hair and face. She looked up to him and gazed as if looking upon a fallen angel sent to answer her prayers or condemn her to hell.

"Y-you know."

"Tell me!" he screamed at her he stepped away. The scream was primal and animal in nature. His desperation seeped into the space between them. He needed her to tell him. Confirm what he had seen, confess her true nature.

* * *

She remembered learning to pray as a child. The humble act of kneeling in supplication and praying for what you wanted.

If only it was that easy.

_Maybe it could be._

She felt rather than heard his sharp intake of breath as she fell to her knees. The rough hardwood floor was unforgiving on her tender flesh. She looked up at him and saw him grab at his hair and rub his jaw as he struggled with what he was watching. She could see the affects it had on him, the straining of his flesh beneath his trousers.

He dropped to his knees before her and grabbed at her arms again. Her face shot up to look at him, to gaze upon his features. He was beautiful in his madness, in his desperation. She wondered what she looked like to him.

"Is this what you want, for me to fall on my knees before you?"

He ran his hands up her arms and buried his fingers in her hair as he pulled her closer to him. His movements were rough and unpracticed and she could feel the trembling of his body. His mouth against her cheek he spoke, his words severe, laced with yearning and wrapped in vitriol that was uniquely his.

"Do you know what I want Hermione?" He didn't let her answer, she couldn't move. His mouth and face pressed against her cheek coupled with his fingers entwined in her hair had complete control of her.

"I want to tear through you like a storm. I want to cleanse my demons with your tears of pleasure and pain. You unman me and I am not ready or sure that I will survive being a slave to another master. To the cruelest master of all."

He pulled back and looked upon her like a man starved. She could feel his saliva on her face mingling with her sweat. He still hadn't released his hold on her hair. He simply looked at her, through her. Time no longer existed.

She raised her hand slightly and he flinched like a wounded animal. Dropping his hands to his side he watched her hand move to rest softly on the space right above his heart. Her touch was tentative, cautious. He released a jagged breath that shook his body as her hand touched the skin visible at the opening of his shirt. Still his eyes watched her, hungrily devouring every detail of her face. Beneath her fingertips she felt the course hair of his heated chest and the pale skin she wanted to worship with her mouth.

He was so much larger than she was; his presence dominated the whole of the room. He was larger than life, a god amongst men.

_He was her god._

He pushed her hand away and tore her blouse open. The buttons scattered and fell to the floor, never to be seen again. His hands were not tender as he grabbed her lace covered breasts. His head dipped and his tongue darted out to taste the beads of sweat that had gathered at the crux of her breasts as his deft fingers pulled at her hardened nipples. 

"Every time you are near me I feel like I am drowning, I am suffocating," his voice dark and guttural.

He buried his face in her breasts and breathed her in. His tongue drew patterns of ownership over her collarbone and neck. Her head fell back in abandon. She clutched at his shirt, trying to keep from falling into the abyss. She wanted to feel him closer to her. One hand moved behind her neck while he desperately pulled her skirt up and dragged his fingers along the outside of her thigh. Her throat closed up as she felt his mouth at her ear and his hand grasping the plump flesh of her arse.

"I cannot be gentle. You have broken me. From the moment I buried my face in your cunt your scent was emblazoned on me."

He bit down on the soft flesh of her neck as his hand ripped the knickers from her body. The sound of the material ripping was deafening. The warmth of the room caressed her already sodden sex. The same hand that had ripped the undergarments from her quivering flesh came up to rip the lace material covering her breasts. Looking down at her he dipped his head slowly, nuzzling the exposed skin with his face and hair. Her hands moved as little as they could from her restricted position on her knees to lightly graze the arm holding her neck. She held onto his wrist where the bands swirled as if a living entity. Her own wedding bands were pulling her towards him; they were alive with passion and hunger.

His other hand had moved back to trailing a path to her arse again and he squeezed her hard, the feeling a sharp contrast to the soft caresses from his face on her breasts. His hand moved to the newly exposed flesh of her sex. Her thighs seemed to part as if by design, without effort or thought. He raised his head and looked at her with a hunger that could only be described as feral. She could feel the tentative caress against the small thatch of curls at the apex of her thighs. If it had not been for his hand at her neck she would have collapsed from that slightest of touches. He pulled her face closer to his, her forehead against his; she felt a long finger masterfully make its way inside her. As his finger filled her they both struggled to catch their breath. He began to leisurely move his digit within her. A hiss of pleasure escaped her mouth as his thumb caressed the hardened nub of her sex. Her hips began to move against his hand as two fingers now began to move in and out of her while his thumb worked circles of pleasure against her clit.

"Is this what you wanted witch? Those nights that you touched yourself, it was my fingers that you imagined."

She couldn't answer, what little awareness she had left had fled her in a sea of sensation. He pulled his head away from hers and roughly sucked her nipple into his mouth while his fingers moved faster and harder, her walls beginning to tighten around the invading digits. His mouth and hand worked in tandem, taking her further beyond this place where they knelt on the floor. His teeth bruised her nipple as his tongue soothed the flesh. There was no pain without pleasure.

Words and thoughts were gone; images flooded her consciousness as the feelings grew and morphed within her. She was standing at the shore, the waves moving her body to and fro and with every pull there was a push and soon she knew the tide would pull her under its raging waters. She was drowning, the sensations crushing the air from her lungs. She shook and struggled as she rose higher out of the ocean of feeling and his name was ripped from her being. Her salvation found at his hand and mouth.

It was only then that he stilled his movements, that he loosened his grip. She saw the dark wet spot on his trousers and new he had been on that shore as well. The fingers that had been buried within her found a new home in the warm cavern of his mouth as he purred in his possession of her. He stood and pulled her limp body into his arms and carried her off to another room.

Cool sheets met her heated skin as he laid her down. She fought to keep her eyes open, to look upon her savior, her husband, but there was little strength left in her. She felt the dip of the bed as his body joined hers. They could only whisper one word before sleep claimed them both.

"Wife…"

"Husband…"


	11. XI

 

" _The nights were mainly made for saying things you can't say tomorrow day."-Artic Monkeys_

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

She was standing on a dark cliff. The rough waves of the ocean beat against the weather beaten rock below. Looking out into the ocean she saw nothing but a dark nothingness waiting to swallow her whole. The wind whipped her robes and hair and the cold fingers of the coming storm drew her nearer to the precipice of the cliff. She could feel him before she heard him. The soft caress of his magic against hers immediately alerted her to his presence.

" _Don't turn around…"_

His words froze her in place. The front of his body was against her back and his voice made love to her senses.

" _Are you afraid?"_

She nodded her head. She could not speak. The closer he stood to her, the stronger the wind blew and the darker the sky became.

" _There is a storm coming, can you feel it?"_

He was pressed against her now and she could feel the heat of his body through their robes. His right arm came around her, his hand splayed against her stomach. He pulled her even closer to his hardness as he buried his face in her hair and spoke.

" _It isn't too late. Everyone will understand if you just walked away. You cannot condemn a dead man."_

She wanted to tell him she didn't care what anyone thought. She wanted to tell him he wasn't dead, he was alive. Had his past been too much for any person to endure? Had he truly been beaten to submission under the weight of the world?  _Was he truly broken beyond repair?_

" _I am so tired wife. I cannot sleep. I have the weight of the living on me."_

His other hand had come to wrap itself around her chest to embrace her fully. His mouth at her neck sent vibrations through her body, his hardness insistent against her lower back. She lifted her small hands to hold his arms to her, to return his embrace, to assure him he was not alone.

Dark turbulent clouds had moved over the horizon as the roar of thunder shook the ground beneath her feet. Lightning dotted the night sky. The howling wind and rain began to beat a steady rhythm against her. His warm embrace kept her from running away, cowering in fear. Over the maelstrom she could hear him again, his voice sinfully dark.

" _It is not too late wife. Once you step off this cliff you will be lost to the darkness of the storm forever. Is that what you want?"_

"Yes!"

With that he pushed her from the cliff into the heart of the storm….

* * *

She awoke with a gasp, sweat covering her naked body. Moonlight bathed the sparsely furnished room and the body of the sleeping man by her side. His breathing was steady and strong. She took a moment to admire his countenance. Even in his slumber, the dark scowl remained. Hermione wondered if even in his dreams he is plagued by his demons. He was angled away from her slightly and the sheet that covered their bodies had slid down his torso. She unabashedly admired the body of her husband. She had seen him before through their connection but this was different. The images before had been blurry and unrefined. Now she could truly appreciate the complete form of his body. His lean muscles and pale sculpted skin reflected the moonlight perfectly down to the spattering of dark hairs that covered his chest and taut stomach. His arms were long and well-defined with sinewy muscles that looked strong and solid. The breath caught in her throat at her shameless admiration of his form. He turned slightly onto his back and she could better regard the rest of his body. His hips were thin but his legs looked firm and strong. She let her eyes take in every inch of exposed flesh before she finally looked upon his flaccid cock. Even in its unaroused state it was still striking in its size. Having only ever seen it slightly before, it was amazing to gaze upon it without his piercing glare upon her. She wanted to reach out and run her finger along the soft skin and bury her hands in the course hair but instead she pulled her hand back to her side. His skin in the dark room looked as if chiseled from the strongest alabaster stone. Sorrow was etched into every fiber of his being; the scars that thinly covered his body were a reminder of the years of servitude and enslavement under two equally malicious masters.

Again she found her hand moving towards him. She wanted nothing more than to just touch him. She knew her touches couldn't erase the dark marks, the ugly memories that tortured his soul but she wanted to offer another balm….one of acceptance and understanding. He didn't need to change for her.

She wanted him just the way he was.

Her hand rose slowly to touch the skin of his shoulder. His arm felt strong beneath her fingers as she softly moved her hand along his arm. She traced the faded tattoo of his dark mark as she reached his hand. His long dexterous fingers were one of his most striking features. They looked both deadly and glorious whether dueling a wizard or plunging into the heat of her sex. She lifted his hand and held it in her smaller one. The palm was rough, callouses from years of toil were carved into every grain of his beautiful hand. She smiled at the thought that the tools of a true master will never shine, they will be dulled with years of use. She lowered her mouth to the palm and ran her lips along the lines as if divining his life with her mouth. His fingers curled in a mock caress against her cheek. She kissed every finger, every knuckle, every tiny scar and bruise.

Without looking at him she lowered the hand back to the bed and moved away when she heard him, his voice gravely from sleep.

"Don't stop…"

She wondered how long he had felt her admiring him, caressing him. Emboldened by his plea, she moved to kneel by his side, her hand resting softly on his chest. She could feel the rise and fall of his deep breathing and the thrumming of his heartbeat beneath her touch. He had not moved. His body remained prone on the bed beside her. He could have still been sound asleep had she not heard his voice. She reached out and pushed a wayward strand of dark hair from his face. Even in the faint light of the room she could see his dark eyes looking up at her. She traced the bridge of his prominent nose and the slight upturn of his thin lips. Her fingers moved over the dark eyebrows that always seemed to be trying to meet his hairline, then around the rough stubble of his stern-set jaw. She felt him swallow as she ran her hands over his scarred neck.

"Come here…"

He moved the arm closest to her and slipped it gently around her waist to move her to straddle his torso. He hissed slightly as her sodden core came in contact with his abdomen. She tensed at the sound and the feeling. The sensation against her sex was unlike anything she had ever felt. The rise and fall of his breathing set fire to her senses.

"Relax…"

His hands gripped her thighs as he took in the sensation of having her on him. Possessing him. The heat of her body was enough to work itself into the very blood in his veins. He was her slave, her loyal follower. It was in this moment in the night that Severus realized that he might be lost. 

Her breathing became ragged as she gently moved against him with every rise and fall of his diaphragm.  She steadied her hands and stared at a spot of light behind the headboard. She feared looking at him, seeing rejection or the ire that had been there so often in her past. His eyes watched her; they caressed and devoured every curve and swell. He admired the small quiver in her lips as she moistened them with her tongue.

He moved his hands to caress the skin of her legs. He felt the goose-flesh rise to meet his movements. His hand drifted to her soft stomach and breasts. His touch both excited and relaxed her. Gone was the harshness of their heated exchange earlier in the evening. He wanted her to know he was there with her, two souls together in that moment.  

"Touch me…"

Any shame Hermione might have felt ebbed away as her hands became more familiar with the topography of her husband's body. Her fingers felt the rise of his flat nipples under her attention. Leaning forward to kiss his Adam's apple, her tongue reaching out slightly teasing the ridge she curled her hands around his sides. His hands continued to explore her heated skin as she moved slowly over the length of his torso. She could feel his hardness against her backside. She carefully lifted herself over his manhood to settle between his long legs. For just a fleeting moment, her sex came in contact with his and the feeling was that of pure euphoria.

In that moment she saw the beauty that awaited her with Severus. The pure passion and love that awaited her as his wife. It took all her will power not to stop and allow his hardness to pierce her foundation and make her finally his wife in both name and action. The sharp intake of breath from Severus matched her own. She stilled to take in the sensation of wanton pleasure that the simple moment has caused them both. Careful not to touch him again too soon she allowed her eyes to look upon her husband with breathless curiosity. With a wave of his hand two wall sconces had lit, bathing the room in a warm light. Hermione was able to take in all of his dark beauty. The sharp edges of his body seemed softened by the soft light. 

Hermione knew it wasn't the soft light. It was in fact the new light in which she saw him. She looked everywhere but at his eyes. It was to intimate a gesture because she knew that with those eyes he had seen right to the core of her. 

"Look at me…"

She struggled to lift her gaze away from a small scar on his hip to meet his stormy gaze. 

"You know now it's too late wife…"

She worked her bottom lip with her teeth as she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She knew when she first reached her hand out to touch him; it was too late to turn back. Her only hesitance now was her inexperience coupled with wonder at the glorious feast her husband's body beheld. 

She nodded as he touched the warm skin of her cheek. She found herself leaning into his touch, seeking his affection.

"Good girl…"

The tears welled in her eyes and she almost wept. So many years seeking approval and those two words had broken her.

Her eyes met his and she could see her own desire and lust reflected in the dark pools.

She vividly remembers the hunger she felt during her seventh year as she traipsed through the countryside with her friends in search of the impossible. That gnawing feeling of emptiness that pools in the very bottom of one's stomach that over time becomes part of every waking moment. She never thought she'd feel that again until the moment she looked down upon him. Her hands splayed at his hips she admired for the first time his sex. Seeing him so aroused stirred something in her. A sense of pride and humility were warring within her. the most important of life's lessons awaited her if she could simply give in to the need to meet his needs as he had met hers.

She watched with fascination as he became further aroused under her intense scrutiny. Her eyes and hands devoured every glorious inch of his sex and he found he could not remain as impassive or silent as he had done before. Small sounds of pleasure escaped his thin lips. She let her fingers explore him further. Her touch was inexperienced and tentative, exploring and chasing every sensation her movements triggered. She experimented with moving her hand as she had seen him do before and rejoiced in the sensation it caused them both. He bucked his hips and she hastened the pace of her hand. The desire to touch him with more than her hand overcame her and she leaned in to taste the very essence of life that wept from his sex.  

"Dam you woman…" His hand shot out and he gripped her hair encouraging her to do more. Moving on nothing more than pure desire and instinct she leisurely tasted and enjoyed the silken skin that rejoiced under her loving attention.

"Take me in your mouth, wife…" Every word from his lips stroked her senses. She could feel the effect in her core as it wept for his touch in silent agony.

She colored at the thought of him sensing and tasting her arousal. For it was only for him that she felt this and it was only him that could ease it.

She did as he asked and let her mouth do what her hands could not.

"M-more witch, do it again."

She moved with more ease and familiarity as she felt the swirl of emotions playing on his face. He touched her face, her hair and pulled at the bed as he fought to give in to her mouth's silent pleas. 

"Stop witch…"

She didn't want to stop. She wanted to cleanse him of his sins, to offer him contrition in exchange for hers. She pulled and moved faster silently calling for the release that would help him find the peace he so richly deserved. 

"What are you?…stop…arrgggg…" his words cut off.

The sounds from her husband were barely human in their nature. Mumbled groans of pleasure interlaced with curses to the heavens as he struggled to maintain his composure. She took communion at the altar of his sex and found his bittersweet release to be the greatest of benedictions.

At that moment she felt it, the complete surrender of her husband she knew things between them had transcended the physical. She saw everything he had been and everything he could be and she loved him even more because of it. She held him softly through his release, easing the strain, until the shaking in his limbs settled and she felt him still.

_"Good boy…"_


	12. XII

 

_"Love hath made thee tame a snake."_

_As You Like It (Act 1/Scene 2)_

_William Shakespeare_

* * *

**Chapter 12**

As a child Severus remembered the first time he had ever felt magic course through his veins. It had felt like an awakening. It was as if he had been asleep up until that very moment, sleepwalking through life in a haze of confusion and bewilderment. It was at that moment that he felt his magic roar to life did he know where he belonged. It was straddling the line between two worlds, each brilliant and terrifying in their own way. Never again in his life had he felt that sense of being.

Not until now.

For the better part of his adult life Severus had toed the line between life and death. The late night summons, the lies and deceit aimed at pleasing everyone around him but himself. There was no joy in his labor, it was an art perfected over time. Had he failed in any way he would have been struck down at the flick of a wrist or a twist of his neck. His usefulness in the world was warped and twisted and relied not on his character but on his actions. Very early on as a result of one childish blunder he had been weighed, measured and found lacking. Grovel he would at the foot of those he had offended most foul, only to be rejected, turned away into the dark of the night. The cloak of darkness had been his only companion, dejection and bitterness his only allies. As time passed, they seeped deeper into his soul, blackening his heart. Only when death threatened the life of his former friend did he once again barter his soul, only to be left wanting and crying upon newly turned soil. His hands had buried themselves deep into the blood soaked dirt as he begged the heavens for a respite to his pain. No answer came and he was left to wallow in his agony renewed. He had not faltered in his duties, once bartered a soul cannot be won back. His had been lost that fateful day he had traded it for the protection of those offended. The debt of his life weighed heavily against his prejudices of past slights. Time passed and pain became a constant state of being. Happiness and joy were the folly of fools and he found that he was neither foolish nor mad. For a brief moment he had been left to flounder between both worlds. The mission was not complete and he waited with bated breath until the fateful night the darkest of marks had lit up the night sky. The mark signaled his return to duty, for what was a knight without a charge? Donning his blackest of masks he once again knelt at the foot of a madman while at the command of another, just as hungry for power. One shrouded in light while the other bathed in the darkness of his feigned pureness. The child of the fallen ones had to be molded, guided and protected only to be taken to the mount for slaughter. Oh most foul of masters; at least the Dark Lord had been honest in his desire to end his enemy's life. The earth had fallen from under his feet; swallowing him whole with the weight of the souls that rested upon him. Just as death had embraced him as a lover lost, he was torn asunder from that sweet release only to return to the wretched realm of the living. He had been done, finished, no longer needed or wanted in this world. Yet, here he was the darkest of knights left to wander aimlessly once again in the world.

He had mourned his own death. Tears so long dried in his eyes became like dew to the fire within. His grief became fury which turned to wrath. The ground beneath him quaked at every step he took, he was rage incarnate. He vowed to find the angel that had blessed his unworthy soul, rip the wings from their being and crush them underfoot. Nothing would allay his fury but blood. However, while his mind was reluctant to live his soul had unbeknownst to him spoken loudly across the ether as he lay dying and called to the heart that would come to its relief. The angel came in the guise of a student most loathed. His soul had sung to hers, its siren call stronger than reason or logic.  _For who could care for a soul so battered and dark?_  It was then that his magic had made its home in the soul of another and taken flight in her beating heart. His mind had fought against it, tried to tear from his veins the very spirit that had given him renewed vigor and strength. He would not bend to its nature nor would he heed to its unsought intrusion. Sorrow and pain had always been true and constant companions in the darkness of his life. He would not now abandon the perverse comfort their cold arms provided in the depths of the night.

He would not relent so it manifested itself in lustful images reflected in the mirror of the truest desires. It could not be love. Love appears gentle and tender but at its core it is tyrannous, rough and raw in its true nature. He would not again suffer its jealous wrath. The images showed him what his soul already coveted.

Oh what a wretched picture he painted! His deception had been so elaborate he had fooled even himself. His heart and body could not deceive, every sweep of her fingers, each swipe of her tongue had awaken in him his true soul. That child that once craved the loving touch of a mother had reared his head from beneath decades of pain and agony. He had whimpered and moaned in unrestrained abandon as the witchcraft of her lips had pitied the dangers that he had passed and the punishments he had inflicted most foul. He prayed to the heavens and cursed the gods for their intervention, so blind was Cupid that he was chosen to endure its ill-timed arrow? He was not deserving of forgiveness, his soul was lost forever in a bargain with the devil. Yet here she was offering contrition with no caveats.

_His wife_

He watched her with judgment lost. The cascading curls of her hair splayed on the length of his thigh stirred him back to life and he pulled her up and to lie beneath him. Her eyes once closed to slumber opened wide in longing. His body quickly found its home nestled in the warmth of her thighs. The first rays of the morning sun had begun to crest over the horizon as he looked down to the waiting wonder that was his wife.

"There will be pain…"

"When there is love, there is always pain," she whispered.

With that he lowered his mouth to hers and for the first time kissed her lips. The sigh of pleasure from her mouth was like a balm for his battered heart. The momentary bliss was short lived as he entered her quickly, piercing the last vestige of innocence and cementing her as his forever. Blood was spilled on the altar of their marriage, one life in place of another and they stilled in a moment of mourning. He was lost to the sensation of being surrounded by love and enveloped by a passion so long denied. His long fingers that she had so lovingly caressed wiped tears from her eyes. In that moment she mourned the death of one life and welcomed another born in this moment interwoven with pain and pleasure. Her mouth moved to capture the tears that had escaped his own eyes and he marveled in their joint moment of surrender. It was only then that he felt the need to move deeper within her, to explore her depths as only a husband can and should. He moved as the tide does against the shore and watched in fascination as the little pain she felt ebbed away replaced with bliss beneath his love's labor. Severus could see in his wife, passions made of nothing but the finest part of pure love.*

It was in this moment that he knew he would want no companion in the world but the one that moaned in ecstasy beneath him. The same one who now offered him a smile born of love and approval instead of practiced resentment and rejection.

_His wife_

Her arms and legs surrounded him, pulling him further into her womb. They were surrounded in a cocoon of love. The fire and passion of her lips never ceased in their exploration of his. Her hands framed his face so hated by all with the loving care of a devoted apostle. Her reverence strengthened his need to possess her, to become one with her; to end the chaos that was his life and settle into the calm of her burgeoning storm. Passions growing and mounting drove them both further in their hunt for what had eluded them both for so long, that which would bind them forever. His kisses were heated and frenzied, driven by a need to tattoo his taste in her mouth forever. They moaned and moved with a practiced sense of harmony until they were both in the midst of a roaring ocean. The tide rose and crashed over them, pulling them under, they were lost to the current. Moments passed like lead as they finally found their release, each calling the other's name in supplication. It was the only time their lips had parted, the breath between them a whispered plea to the other half of their soul.

Only now could they rest, their shared soul finally at peace. The sea had calmed and they lay intertwined with each other in a splendid afterglow. With her head against the still thrumming beat of his heart he caressed his most treasured possession, his wife and her love for him. She had bestowed this gift to him and he was now reluctant to ever part with it. Severus had finally found his place in the world.

**Fin**

*Shakespeare,  _Anthony and Cleopatra_ , A3, S5


End file.
